Jazz Age
by mongoose-bite
Summary: Hawke and his family fled the war in Ferelden on a liner, dogged by Darkspawn U-Boats. Two years later the war is over and Hawke is a private detective in Kirkwall, a city awash with jazz, bootleg liquor and a lot of trouble. Roaring 20s AU.
1. Expedition Bound for Deep Roads

A/N All characters and settings belong to Bioware. No money is being made. This is AU, obviously. Since I'm not tying the story down to a particular year, the historical bits and pieces might not be totally accurate. The story does take place in Thedas, but I've borrowed brand names from our universe.

No Sebastian. Sorry. I never bought his DLC, so I can't really write him.

* * *

><p>By the second summer, I knew I was done with the Red Iron family. They hadn't treated us bad – no worse than anyone else in Kirkwall would have anyhow, and Meeran made it clear there was a place for Carver and me in the organisation if we chose to take it. But I ain't never figured myself a mobster, and I knew sooner or later I'd be asked to give up my strict 'no murder' policy.<p>

It was more than two years ago that Carver came limping home from the Ostagar front and we fled Feraldan. We could hear the artillery and see the shells exploding on the horizon like lightning bolts when we finally left Lothering. It was too late for Bethany; my sweet little sister, now at the Maker's side. I don't like to dwell on those days too much.

We arrived in Kirkwall to be practically sold into slavery by Uncle Gamlen, but we were flat broke and had nowhere else to go. At least Ma got a roof over her head, even if she had to share it with the sap. I wasn't too keen on sharing a room with Carver neither. Four adults and a dog crammed into Gamlen's crummy apartment over a vacant shopfront in Lowtown. It wasn't what we were expecting. Ma says we had money once; it didn't look like we were likely to ever have it again.

But we were free at last, of our obligations to Meeran at least. A year in Kirkwall had turned both Carver and I from country rubes to sharp young men in cheap suits with the world at our feet. Well, I wouldn't say Carver is sharp exactly, but I was following his direction for the morning as we searched for gainful employment.

Fruitlessly, as it turned out.

"Well that was a waste of time." I held the door for a couple of baby vamps and got a smile for my trouble as we made our way out of the university and on to the street. Carver had his head down, and I could see his ears were red. He always took everything so personally. Me, I'd rather get along with people, Carver excepted, although I couldn't see in what universe I'd get along with Professor Tethras.

Carver was broader and about an inch taller than me. He took after Ma, with his dark hair and overdeveloped sense of responsibility. I took after our father, who died when I was sixteen. I'd inherited his red hair and disregard for the letter of the law - among other things.

Hightown was bustling. The fancy motors gleamed in the morning sun, and jazz was trickling from one of the nearby shops. Horns blasted, paperboys shouted, and we shouldered past about a hundred people a minute. I was free and nobody knew my name here. I loved it. The world was my oyster. I lit a smoke and rocked back on my heels watching pedestrians hurry out of the way of one of the cable cars, its bell clanging as it laboured up the slope.

I saw one hit a motor car once, something I couldn't even have imagined when I lived in Fereldan. The world is so big, sometimes you just gotta stop and drink it all in.

Carver was still sulking.

I tried to cheer him up, as a big brother should. "I'm tellin' you, he did us a favour. You want to be taking orders from that high hat for six months? I don't care if the papers are calling his expedition a treasure hunt, he could find a solid gold diamond the size of your head and we wouldn't get so much as to polish it. I dunno why you were so keen on that job to start with."

"Because we can't live on air, Trip! And a gold diamond don't make a lick of sense. You can mooch around Hightown all day and stare at girls if you want, but I won't see Ma starve. And we gotta get her out of that house. Gamlen's driving her crazy. He's driving _me_ crazy."

Bastard. Dragging Ma into this. Although he had a point about Gamlen.

And he was still at it. "You're our fearless leader. The eldest. The one Father left in charge. And you're the reason we can't find proper work in case the Tem-"

"Will you put a sock in it?" I growled. Scanning the crowd for the drab brown suits and plain bowler hats of the Templars was second nature to me, but anyone could rat me out to them. At least, they could if Carver kept flapping his jaw. "I got a plan, okay?"

Carver folded his arms.

"I still got my PI licence, right? I'll kick Gamlen out of the front room and hang out a shingle. We can track down cheating husbands and lost jewellery until we can move Ma out."

"We?"

I shifted my jaw, "Well only if Your Highness not busy."

"So your grand plan is to get an entire room all to yourself as an office?"

I could see Carver would need some incentive. "Look, I'll even sleep in it. You can have our room to yourself. Gamlen can stay in the lounge."

Carver looked thoughtful. "Hmm. All right. There's only one problem."

"Only one? Maker be praised." I flicked ash into the gutter.

"Your licence is for Fereldan, not Kirkwall. And it's a forgery!"

"Exactly, they're not going to recognise a Fereldan forgery in Kirkwall." My logic, I felt, was flawless. "Besides, it's Lowtown; no one is going to care. If it makes you feel better, I'll save up for a Kirkwall licence too. I'm sure Aveline can take care of the paperwork once we get the cash."

Carver gave in. He always gave in, no matter how much he resented it. "Fine, we'll do it your way."

"Cheer up, little brother. What's the worst that could happen?"

* * *

><p>Gamlen was not happy. Carver and I decided, by unspoken agreement, not to inform our dear uncle of his changed circumstances, and so he came home from losing at cards – something he did nightly – to find all his personal belongings in the living room, and mine in the front room. He soon made his displeasure known.<p>

"That _boy_-" Of course he'd go and pick on Ma. Both Carver and I were bigger than he was, and a low opinion of him was one of the few things we shared. I was wrestling a filing cabinet into place in my new office when I heard him starting his rant. "Has gone and rearranged my personal things, in my house, which I have freely and generously shared with you all. The bonds of family only stretch so far before they break, Leandra."

"If you've got something to say, Uncle, you can say it to my face." I loomed in the kitchen doorway – it's a talent – and he recoiled slightly, but didn't lose his bluster.

"Now listen, Trip, you'd better have a dammed good explanation for all of this, or so help me, I'll …I'll throw you out."

"I'm going to make us some money," I said. It was about the only thing I could have said that would have gotten through.

"I …oh. And just how do you intend to do that?"

"I'll reopen my business," I said. "You can take any calls when I'm not in." It wasn't like he did anything else all day.

"Trip was private investigator back in Fereldan," Ma said, leaving her ham and corn fritters for a moment to straighten my collar affectionately. "He's very good. Always finding things and helping people." That's my Ma for you; she has endless faith in all of us. "Now if you boys are done arguing, sit down; dinner's almost ready."

At the word 'dinner' my Mabari, Horse, (as in big-as-a yes, I know it's a weak joke) bounded in, all bright eyes and stumpy tail wagging. Ma laughed and told him he'd have to wait his turn and that he'd already had scraps.

There were too many missing faces: my father, Bethany, for this to be a proper family meal like we had in Lothering, but I'll take what I can get. There are folks worse off.

* * *

><p>The next morning Carver point-blank refused to help and went out to earn a day's pittance shifting cargo at the docks. So I was alone and up a ladder in shirtsleeves attaching the modest sign I'd painted the night before to the empty bracket over the front of the doorway. Already I could tell the day was going to be a scorcher; sweat was gathering on my forehead, and the reek of marinating garbage was overwhelming the smell of spices from the nearby Alienage.<p>

My office was getting a fan as soon as I could afford one, I vowed.

"Huh, don't tell me the landlord sold the place twice."

I nearly fell off the rickety ladder. I made a grab for the iron bracket and managed to steady both myself and it in time. I glanced over my shoulder to see a dwarf looking up at me.

Nice smile, swanky suit; way too swanky for Lowtown. At least, for anyone with legitimate business in Lowtown. My first thought was that he was after protection money; an hour and a half has to be some sort of record from opening a business to a shakedown, but nothing would surprise me here. This guess was strengthened by the fact that he carried an odd case over his shoulder; I wouldn't have put money on their being a trombone in it.

I slid down the ladder and turned to face him. He read my sign thoughtfully and then looked back at me.

"A private dick, huh? Maybe you can solve the mystery of the two businesses in the one shop."

I looked over my shoulder at the empty shop behind me. "That shop?"

My visitor nodded, "Right. I just rented the place."

"Oh, no there's no problem. I'm on the second floor. I didn't realise- this shop's been empty since we moved in nearly two years ago. Apologies for stealing your bracket. I'm Trip Hawke."

I held out my hand and the dwarf shook it. Good grip, friendly. I could not begin to guess what kind of business this guy was in, but he had a kind of charm and didn't seem to be taking my theft of his sign-space personally.

"Varric Tethras. And I can see by your expression you've probably met my brother. It's the same look, every time someone meets Bartrand before they meet me."

I laughed a bit ruefully, "My brother and me asked him for a job yesterday."

"That explains that at least."

"Well, if we're neighbours, come on up and have a drink. Sort out this sign business. Maybe we can hang one under the other?"

"Those both sound like good ideas to me." He followed me up the narrow staircase to our apartment.

"It's not just me up here," I warned him. "I mean, technically this place belongs to my uncle. We're staying here, for now." Indefinitely. That was depressing.

"You're Fereldan, right? Thought I recognised an accent under there."

"Yeah, the way I hear it, we don't have anything left to go back to, even if we could afford the ticket."

I watched him lean his odd case carefully against the wall. "What kind of business are you going to open downstairs anyway?" I asked, turning to hunt around for some clean glasses; if I was honest, we all sort of left the cleaning to Ma.

"A bookshop," Varric replied.

"So much for my investigative instincts. I would not have guessed that."

Varric laughed, "You'd be right. I've done all kinds of things. Who knows, maybe next week I'll sell jewellery instead."

I looked him in the eyes, "Stolen?"

"Aw, now that would be telling."

I got it then; he was a fence. Probably semi-legit, but a bookstore attracts less attention than a pawn shop. It wasn't my business; as long as no one shot the place up, he could sell what he liked.

Varric and I spent the morning in my office, slowly emptying the kitchen of fruit juice and soda as the dwarf fed me the greatest load of baloney I ever heard. It didn't take me long to realise that the man was some kind of genius, and I'd do well to pick up some of his technique.

"You shouldn't be selling books, Varric, you should be writing them."

"That's very kind of you, maybe I will. If I ever get the time."

It came as a shock when Ma came home for lunch, just how much time had passed.

"Varric Tethras, this is my mother, Leandra. Ma, Varric's moving in downstairs. Gonna open a bookshop."

"Oh, that's a relief. I always used to worry that a butcher or tanner would take the space. You must stay and have lunch."

"Dear Lady," Varric held up his hands, "I would not dream of it. Trip's been entertaining me all morning, and the least I can do is take you both to lunch. My treat."

And just like that, he became one of the family.


	2. Dumar Says No to Qunari Embassy

Varric and I opened for business not-so-coincidentally on the same day. I could have opened earlier but the dwarf paid Carver and me enough to make it worth our while to help him set up. So we sweated and swore and carried boxes of books while Ma made us lemonade. I couldn't say people were lining up outside either of our doors when we finally opened 'em.

I leaned back in my chair, put my feet on my desk, and surveyed my kingdom. It felt good, even if the filing cabinets were empty. I figured something would turn up. I could hear raised voices from the back room; Gamlen again. Ma gave as good as she got, but this was unprofessional. If they wanted to fight, they'd have to do it quietly or they'd scare off the clients.

I was just about to get up and tell them so when Carver came in. He looked thoughtful, which must have been painful for him.

He dropped into the chair on the other side of my desk and looked at me.

"Do you think Gamlen's telling the truth about the will?"

"He couldn't tell the truth on a bet."

"Well, you're a detective. You find lost things, you should look for it."

"The estate ain't lost. We know where it is. And I have no trouble believing Gamlen lost it fair and square. I don't think we can knock on the door and ask to see the family vault either. The current owners are not nice people."

"I know," Carver hung his head. "Ma will go spare if she knows we're sniffing around the old house. But Gamlen keeps telling her she was never forgiven by our grandfolks, and it's eating her."

I didn't need any more convincing. I got to my feet and grabbed my coat and hat. "Couldn't hurt to take a look, at least." And it wasn't like I was gonna turn down an excuse to visit Hightown.

We took the cable-car uptown and walked from the market square. It hadn't occurred to me to scope out the family home before, and when I finally saw it I couldn't believe my eyes.

For a start, it was massive. In a street full of massive houses, it was still massive. You could hold a dance in there. We peered in grim silence through the wrought iron gates at the neat garden and the huge house behind it. There was a Franklin breezer sitting in the driveway, and as we watched a man in uniform left the house and drove it around the side, presumably to a garage.

"We could have lived here?" Carver didn't even sound angry, just bewildered.

"Ma gave up a lot for Father," I said quietly. Sure I would have loved that kind of money, but it wouldn't have been me who lived there. It would have been some other fella, with a different father and probably not half as good looking as I am.

We stood there staring with our hands in our pockets for some time. The garden was enclosed by a high brick wall, but not too high to climb over if someone gave a boost.

"To hell with this!" Carver abruptly turned on his heel and stalked off and I followed without a word.

Carver was quiet all evening, and even I only baited Gamlen half-heartedly. Ma asked if I was coming down with something. I said maybe, and turned in early.

I counted ten minutes from the time the house finally grew quiet to Carver sneaking into my room. We were both still dressed, and I knew he was carrying a gun. What better way to start a career as a detective with a bit of break and enter?

We left the house quietly, picking our feet up on the stairs so they wouldn't creak. Not that anyone would have heard us over Gamlen's snoring.

"Evening, fellas."

We both jumped like scalded cats, and Varric chuckled.

"You're working late." It was all I could come up with.

"I was just about done. You boys going out for business or pleasure?"

I noticed he was carrying his black case. He didn't take it everywhere, but every time I visited him, either at his shop or his room at the Hanged Man, it was close by. He didn't refer to it, and for some reason we never got around to asking him about it. Tonight it was reassuring.

Carver and I exchanged glances. I was half a mind to let Varric talk us out of this venture. I'm not sure if that's the whole reason why we told him what we were up to, but we were short on friends in Kirkwall and I could guess what Aveline would have to say about our plan and it wouldn't be printable.

Varric looked thoughtful.

"Well, if you're looking for some help, the rest of my evening is free."

I realised I'd been holding my breath. "Are you sure you'll be able to make it over the wall?" I asked, grinning. The wall was the reason we weren't taking Horse, and I knew my faithful hound would be sitting mournfully with his nose to the front door, waiting for me to come back.

Varric just laughed.

He had reason to. When we arrived at the house a few lights were still on and there were more cars in the driveway. Pretty quiet though; whatever was on, it wasn't a party. We were planning on going over the wall, but Varric suggested we try the delivery entrance first.

"It's locked." Carver shrugged.

"And that is why you need someone like me," Varric said, and I could only be impressed when he pulled a lock pick from the turned up cuff of his jacket. He had the door open in seconds, and he bowed and ushered us through.

"You gotta teach me to do that," I muttered as I passed.

All seemed quiet on the lower floors, and we hurried past store rooms and through servant's quarters and kitchens.

It was in the latter we surprised a man in pinstripe suit making a sandwich. We gaped at each other for a few moments and then he went for his jacket pocket.

Carver was faster. He stepped past me and swung the butt of his Colt down on the guy's head. He dropped pleasantly, without a lot of noise, and I nodded at Carver as he grabbed the sandwich. Waste not; want not.

"Do you even know where we're going?" Varric asked.

"The vault," I whispered. "Ma told us where it is." Or was. But I don't believe in making problems ahead of time.

And as it turned out, after a lot of creeping about, her memory was good. It took Varric a bit longer to get into this one, his lock picks scraping while Carver and I held our breath and listened for trouble.

Carver struck a match while I pawed through the vault. No one had been in here for many years, and there was a lot of junk and cobwebs. I paused to unfold some old letters, and examined my feelings. This was our ancestral home. It would have been ours someday, and now we were nothing more than slightly uncommon thieves.

But what difference does it make? I could have been just as easily born a dwarf, or a mabari. It didn't make sense thinking about this sort of stuff.

I hissed in triumph when I found the will, the wax seal slowly peeling off. I folded it up carefully and tucked it into my jacket. It was time to go.

We retraced our steps, but when we got to the kitchen I halted. Our sandwich-maker was gone.

"Shoulda hit him harder," I muttered, and Carver scowled.

"I wish you'd carry a gun," he replied.

"I wish you'd shut up about whether or not I carry a gun." We were moving again. He might not have had time to raise the alarm. I couldn't hear anything at least.

With some relief, we made it back to the servants' entrance without hearing or seeing another soul.

"See, I knew-" Carver opened the door just a sliver, and then hurled himself sideways as it disintegrated in a shower of splinters and lead with a noise like thunder. Varric and I were further back and we ducked out of the way as the report of the blast echoed down the hill.

"Shotgun," Varric muttered. He looked quite calm, all things considered. He laid his case carefully on the ground.

"Carver!" I hissed. My blood ran cold when all I got was a pained groan in response. I itched to cross the doorway; in the half-light from the streetlamp outside, my brother was just a huddled shape.

"Maker, I think he's hit." My legs felt weak. I'd already cost Ma her little girl. This was my fault, even if it had originally been Carver's idea. I balled my hands into fists, and Varric's eyebrows went right up as they started to glow blue.

"A mage." The dwarf whistled softly. "Well, Hawke, I hate to steal your dramatic moment, but I want you to meet Bianca."

Despite everything that was happening, I couldn't help but be mesmerised by the contraption Varric pulled from his black case. It was the biggest gun I have ever seen. I'm still not sure how he managed to carry it around so effortlessly. He pulled a lever and there was a solid metallic clank as it cocked.

Our eyes met.

"On three?" he asked.

I wasn't going to waste time counting, not with Carver possibly dying just feet away. I lifted my hands, still flickering with magic, "_Three!_"

I stepped into the doorway and punched the air. There was a solid crack of limbs hitting pavement as the half dozen men outside found themselves smashed to the ground.

Varric followed a heartbeat after I'd stepped through the doorway, and swept 'Bianca' in a half circle. It made a surprisingly soft thudding sound, like a big motor kicking over, and the men starting to get to their feet were thrown back. Those with any sense, or those unlucky enough to break their necks in the fall, stayed still.

"Rubber bullets tonight; Bianca's feeling generous."

I nodded. Varric had it under control.

I turned and flung myself back through the doorway, falling to my knees beside my brother.

"Carver! Speak to me, you great sap, what happened?"

"Ugh." His head lolled as I grabbed his collar and pulled him to his knees. I could smell blood although it was too dark to see any. "Got a …bellyful of buckshot," he said finally through gritted teeth.

My magic flickered uncertainly over my hands. I could maybe get it out; but if I just pulled I'd likely be doing Carver more harm than good.

"You need a hospital," I said shakily. "Shit." This was the short of injury that was going to provoke questions. Not least from Ma. And Aveline. And, if I didn't cold-bloodedly murder the men outside, from the Templars. "Worry about the Gallows tomorrow, eh?"

I felt a gentle hand on my shoulder.

"I know were we can take him," Varric said.

* * *

><p>I occasionally revisit that stumbling, staggering journey to Darktown in my nightmares. As always in times of a crisis the breath of demons tickled my ears, promising salvation and power. I heard them when Bethany died too, promising safety and resurrection.<p>

I ignored them. Father had bred these lessons into my bones.

Varric took us down every shortcut he knew, as I half-dragged half-carried Carver. Carver was muttering and only semi-conscious. With every jolting step I was terrified he'd die in my arms. Not again. Not like Bethany.

"Shut up!" I said suddenly.

"Didn't say a word," Varric said, eyeing me off as he held open a rickety wooden gate.

I shook my head. Even if I'd been inclined to explain, I didn't have time. I was concentrating on putting one foot in front of the other when Varric gently pushed me to a halt.

We were somewhere in Darktown; not a place I go by choice. It was a clinic of some sort; smelled of cleaner, the floors were tiled and there were little paper lanterns attracting bugs outside.

"Where-"

"It's okay, no questions asked," Varric said reassuringly.

I felt like a wretch, but I had to ask. "Can I afford this?"

"Relax. This doctor works for free. Bit of a pinko but if anyone can get your brother back on his feet it's Blondie."

I didn't have it in me to argue. A middle-aged woman guided us into a room, and I laid Carver out on a bench. I brushed the hair out of his eyes. He looked so pale. Blood had soaked through the front of his suit.

"Tell Ma…" he started to say.

Like hell I would. "No! Tell her yourself," I snapped. He could die on his own time, not mine. There was a bench near the wall and I sprawled on it. I remember wondering if they'd mind if I smoked when I must have fallen asleep.

I was woken up by an irregular clattering sound. It took me about five minutes to collect my wits and remember who I was and what I was doing they were so scattered.

The doctor was at work. I was expecting someone older, not this scruffy young man with shaggy blond hair and wire-rimmed spectacles. I wondered if he was a student getting in some extra practice. Methodically he pulled another piece of lead from my brother with a pair of forceps and dropped it into the steel pan on the table. So that was the sound that had woken me.

It took me a while to work out what he was really doing. You learn to fake it; make it look like you're doing things the hard way, rather than using your 'gifts'. Hide it well enough and only a fellow mage can spot it, and this fella was good. Relieved, I dozed off again.

I was woken up by the smell of coffee. I opened my eyes to see the doctor smiling down at me. I accepted the mug he offered with quiet thanks. He looked exhausted; stubble on his chin and shadows under his eyes. I glanced out the window, but Darktown is named for a reason, and I had no idea how far off dawn was. Carver was on a cot now on the other side of the room with blankets tucked under his chin.

"How is he?" I asked.

"Most of his wounds weren't deep. It looked worse than it was. I expect he'll be fine."

"There was a door in the way," I explained. The doctor took a seat on the bench next to me. "Thank you. I'll pay you back, somehow."

"I don't take money from people who don't have any. Unlike the rest of the city," he added in a harder tone.

I was puzzled by this until I remembered Varric's comment about the doctor's political leanings. I don't care too much about a man's politics, especially if he's just saved the life of a close family member.

"You're taking a risk," I said. One too many miracle cures and word would eventually reach the browncoats. "The Templars, I mean."

His whole body tensed, and I could see the glitter of surgical steel in his palm. Not just a healer then. I held up my hand. "Relax." I made it glow blue, and he did.

"You're a free mage as well." He smiled at me, almost gratefully, and I reflected that it had to be tough doing the apostate thing without a family to retreat to. "There are too few of us. Especially here."

I sipped my coffee. It was awful. If I couldn't get him any money, I'd see about getting him a decent brew. "Is your name really Blondie?" I asked.

He looked at me in surprise and then he laughed, "Varric. Right, Matilda said a dwarf was here earlier. No, that's just …Varric being Varric. I'm Anders."

He held out a bony hand and I shook it firmly. "Hawke. Trip Hawke. The failed corpse on your table is Carver, my brother."

He shook my hand like he didn't want to let it go.


	3. Robbery Gone Wrong in Hightown

When I produced the will, Ma worked out pretty fast what had happened to Carver. Thanks to Anders, his injuries didn't look that bad once we dragged him home and Ma let me off with a few dire warnings about leading my brother into trouble. She didn't want to see another child die.

As for the will itself, I was ready to rearrange Gamlen's teeth when we found out the extent of his lies. He'd fleeced us on the entire inheritance and then had the brass balls to lose everything he stole. He was probably lucky Carver was confined to bed when we had _that_ conversation.

Ma didn't get angry though. What mattered to her was that her parents had still loved her, and I guess that is the most important thing. At least, that's what I tell myself. It was good to see a smile on her face. We could have made a claim on the house; it wasn't legally Gamlen's to lose after all, but we didn't have the money for that kind of fight, and the people who owned the place now weren't the type to be good sports about it either. We might as well have owned a house on the moon.

Anders dropped by to check on Carver, and when Ma found out he was working for free she decided to repay him by trying to put some meat on his bones. She took to inviting him over for dinner, and sending him away with sandwiches and baked things. It didn't hurt that he was obviously appreciative.

Gamlen said the place was turning into a zoo.

I said at least we all knew who the monkey was.

Anders was an odd bird. He started showing up at our house a lot, and first I figured he'd just fallen for Ma's cooking, but he spent most of his time in my office. Talking. No matter how pointedly I rustled my paper, the man just kept on.

"There needs to be a revolution, Trip. Mages deserve the right to live as any other man. The sacrifices your family has had to make on your behalf could all be avoided. It's the working class that suffers the most when a mage is born into their midst."

"Anders, I'm trying to read the funnies and it's real hard to laugh when you're beating your gums about the browncoats. I don't like 'em either, but there's nothing I can do about it."

To my surprise he actually snatched the paper out of my hands and glared down at me. "Don't you think this is more important that your comics? You're proof that mages aren't dangerous."

"We are dangerous. Give me back my paper or I'll prove it."

He didn't. "But we can control it. If we didn't have to spend our entire lives hiding or locked up in a Circle, mages wouldn't feel forced to use blood magic."

I was considering whether throw a punch or just wrestle for the paper when we were interrupted. Luckily for my sanity, and Anders' nose, I got my first client that morning. She was looking for her missing cat. I wasn't too proud to go and look for it.

To my surprise, Anders seemed real keen on going along. So, we spent the morning chasing tail. We found a cat that was close enough to the original to satisfy my client, but Anders managed somehow to acquire half a dozen more in the process.

He had them in a cardboard box in the kitchen and was feeding them milk from our cold box.

"What are you planning on doing with all of those? You ain't gonna eat them are you?"

"Trip! How could you suggest such a thing? I'm going to find homes for them." He smiled so lovingly at them I lost the heart to argue. He took them back to his clinic and gave them all lousy names, but at least they gave him something to talk about besides his imaginary revolution.

Like I said, he was an odd bird.

* * *

><p>That Saturday Carver was feeling well enough to complain constantly about not being allowed out. So I rubbed his nose in it and went out. I strolled downstairs to visit Varric and found Anders trying to get him to display some pamphlets in his shop.<p>

"You give them away for free," the mage was explaining.

"I can't go giving things away for free, Blondie. Think what it would do to my reputation."

"Hawke." They both turned to me to back them up.

"Fellas, it's a lovely day out. How about a trip to the country?"

"Why? Are you homesick for the smell of pigshit?"

I didn't rise to Varric's bait. "I have a promise to keep." I waved the round object I had in my hand at them.

"What is that thing?" Anders asked.

"It's a film. Like in the cinema."

Varric leaned back in his chair with a grin and steepled his fingers. "Sounds like there's a story here."

I sat on the edge of Varric's desk and lit a cigarette. "Aveline won't be here for a while yet. I've got time to tell you what really happened when we left Lothering."

* * *

><p>We'd almost left it too late. The darkspawn were swarming across the country from Ostagar and nothing could so much as slow them down. Lothering was a smoking ruin, and we were running with little more than the clothes on our backs. The ogre had killed Bethany, and we were moving slower and slower as Wesley's injuries got worse.<p>

We could see flak bursting in the sky above us, and there seemed to be a constant stream of darkspawn soldiers appearing from the east. Carver had his rifle still but he was running low on bullets.

We staggered over a small hill, and on the other side, between us and freedom, was an enemy column. It seemed to stretch on forever; marching darkspawn, motorcycles and trucks. They hadn't seen us at first and we hit the ground, watching in horror. Carver didn't dare fire his rifle so close to so many of them, and left me to deal with the scouts.

I was exhausted and my arms were bloodied to my elbows. A mage can only do so much. Eventually, one of them got away. Carver risked shooting, but it was too far and he missed. We looked at each other, and we knew we hadn't made it. There were just too many of them.

We were digging in for a last stand as the company of darkspawn marched up the hill towards us when I heard this sound.

With an indescribable clatter, an aeroplane swooped down out of the leaden sky. It was a biplane, painted bright red. Carver said it wasn't one of ours, but it wasn't darkspawn either. We flung ourselves flat as the pilot opened up with the guns and tracer cut down the darkspawn like wheat before a scythe. It was one of the most beautiful things I've ever seen.

The darkspawn were firing back by this time, and the pilot flung the plane up in a turn so steep I was sure it was gonna stall and then made another pass. I saw a couple of grenades fall before the guns opened up again.

I'd say it took no more than thirty seconds for that entire company to be wiped out.

We got to our feet, waving and cheering; figured if they were friendly maybe they'd direct some help our way, whoever they were. To our surprise, the pilot picked a free stretch of road and landed.

Whatever I was expecting, it wasn't what I saw. The pilot climbed down to talk to us; no uniform, but dressed like pilots are, with the fleecy jacket and all. It wasn't an outfit I'd pick to wear on a date, but the curves she filled it with would tempt a Chantry priest.

"Wait, so the pilot was a woman?"

"Dammit Blondie, don't interrupt at crucial moments. Keep going, Trip."

She walked towards us with a kind of strut like she owned the whole battlefield. I guess she did. I'm pretty sure my jaw was hanging. She pulled off her leather helmet and goggles, and tossed a mane of white hair halfway down her back.

"Well well," she said. "What do we have here?" She had a voice like nothing I'd ever heard before; it made me think of aged red wine cut with powdered glass.

She told us she was Flemeth; the legendary Witch of the Wilds. Or rather, we figured she was one and the same. It turned out she'd seen the dead ogre, and wondered what had happened. I think there was more to it though; she gave the impression she knew a lot more than she was telling.

In the end, we made a deal. She'd help us to the coast, and in exchange we'd take this film to a Dalish village up Sundermount way. To be honest, we'd been so busy in the Red Iron that I'd plain forgotten it. I figure it's a debt that needs paying.

* * *

><p>Needless to say, Varric and Anders were in.<p>

Aveline turned up right on time, like she always did. There aren't words to describe Aveline. I'm pretty sure we wouldn't have made it out of Lothering if it weren't for her help. She's a cop, Maker help us. She wasn't in a good mood about it though; they don't let many skirts into the uniform, even in this day and age, and she was always getting light duties and asked to type up paperwork. We all knew they were wasting her talents.

But she gritted her teeth and stuck with it, and on the odd occasion they let her off the leash she took out her frustration on those that deserved it. Today she was off-duty.

Sundermount wasn't a great distance from Kirkwall, but it was definitely too far to walk. There was some traffic, and we eventually hitched a ride with a farmer returning from markets. The back of his pickup smelled like hooch. None of us mentioned it although Aveline wrinkled her nose.

It was good to get out of the city, away from the reek and into fresh air. We bounced around uncomfortably in the back of the pickup while Varric told stories and we speculated on what might be on Flemeth's reel of film. Horse came with us, and while the jalopy laboured up the steep roads around the Wounded Coast he bounded along behind, his tongue flapping as we waved our hats and shouted encouragement to him.

We should have saved our breath.

Our ride ended halfway up Sundermount, and the road was deserted.

"Why couldn't she have picked a village at the bottom of the hill?" Anders asked, his pale skin already showing signs of sunburn, and his hair stuck to his forehead with sweat.

"Come on." Aveline started striding up the slope and we followed, shedding our jackets and carrying them over our shoulders.

I dunno if this Dalish village even had a name. I didn't see a sign when we finally staggered into it. It was all old weatherboard farmhouses in need of a lick of paint and clapped-out pickups. It didn't look like they got visitors often; half the population turned out to gawk at us, and a couple of elves gave us a traditional friendly greeting by telling us to get lost.

"We ain't the law," I said, casting a sideways glance at Aveline. "We're just here to make a delivery and then we'll be on our way."

"They're not even going to offer us a drink?" Anders asked plaintively.

"Wait, maybe he was the one the Keeper spoke of. She's been expecting you." With that, we were given permission to stand on their dirt and breathe their air. That's country hospitality for you.

The Keeper was much friendlier, but she still didn't offer us a drink. She refused to actually accept the can of film.

"You must take it further up the hill. My first needs to complete a ritual. Then your debt will be paid."

Further up the hill. Figured.

We followed the track up from the village, not sure what we were looking for. What we found was one of the sweetest dolls I've ever seen. She was perched on the grassy bank beside the road, her head shaded by a pink parasol with little fringes around the edge. She was obviously dressed in her best, in a green skirt and a short-sleeved shirt with matching cloche hat, from under which peeked brown curls and those long ears elves have. All the other elves we'd seen had been dressed for the farm. I dunno what she was dressed for, but there wouldn't be a fella alive who wouldn't have wanted to escort her there.

When she heard us coming, she scrambled to her feet.

"Oh, you startled me. I didn't see you coming. You must be the one the Keeper told me about. I'm sorry; I didn't get your name. Unless it's rude to ask a human their name. I've never met a human before. I'm Merrill, and I'm rambling, sorry."

"I'm Trip Hawke," I interrupted her. "It's nice to meet you Merrill. These are my friends." She was like a wild animal I half expected to flee at any moment. One of the cute wild animals I mean, the kind with a fluffy tail and big eyes.

The others introduced themselves and I produced the film from the canvas bag slung over my shoulder.

"So, do we give this to you?" I asked.

"Oh, no not yet. We have to go a bit further."

A bit further turned out to be a lot further. Eventually we ended up going through a cave, in which were stored barrels with dubious contents. It made me wonder if the Dalish bothered to grow anything but corn anymore.

We weren't alone. An elf was there, and he relaxed only a bit when he saw Merrill was with us.

"I see the Keeper finally found someone to take you away, huh?"

Merrill raised her chin defiantly, "Don't worry, I'm not staying long."

He shouldered past us with a contemptuous look. Varric looked at me and shrugged.

"I'm sorry, you're not seeing the Dalish at their best," Merrill said.

"Is it something we should be worried about?" Aveline asked.

"No, it's fine."

"How about _them_ then?"

I followed Aveline's gaze. From somewhere deeper in the cave were emerging four rather unhappy looking elves.

"You! You're not supposed to be here," Merrill said, "please leave."

They sized us up.

"Do you really think the shem would bother to get involved with this?" one of them asked.

"Why don't you try us and find out?" I suggested.

"It's all right, I can handle this," Merrill said. Personally, I had my doubts.

She stepped forward, parasol in hand, and with a whisper of steel against steel she drew a long blade from the handle. Varric whistled low; he appreciated unusual weapons. I was still prepared to step in and rescue our elf though. She gave the elves a few moments to approach her, and I could see Aveline readying a rescue as well, when Merrill extended her blade with a yell and a bolt of lightning leaped off the tip. The spark jumped, my ears popped, and I could smell the acrid taste of burning hair. The elves recoiled, yelping.

"I said to leave!" Merrill said, and I could sense the charge gathering again. Twitching and smouldering, the elves ran for it.

"You're a mage," Anders said. Merrill just smiled. "You shouldn't have done that! How do you know we won't turn you in to the Templars?"

"You're completing a task for Asha'bellanar, so why would you?"

"She's got a point," I said.

"As for you," she stepped up to me. "You thought I couldn't defend myself, didn't you? Is it because I'm a woman?"

"It's because you were one against four. Besides, it's natural for a fella to protect a girl."

"Oh Hawke," Varric and Aveline groaned in unison.

"What? What did I say?"

"Have you ever met a feminist?" Merrill said, folding her arms. "Never mind that, you have now."

I was a bit lost. "So who were those fellas?"

"Just a local feud. Nothing to worry about." Merrill then smiled up at me, "But it was awfully nice of you to offer to help."

We ended up at a farmhouse near a large green field. The place was deserted.

"No one lives here," Merrill explained. "But we have a machine that will play the film."

"Good, I was hoping I'd get to see what I've been carrying around for all these years."

In the front room was a machine under a dustsheet, facing the blank wall. Merrill uncovered it and took the film. It was a complicated process, and we waited patiently while she fed it into the machine, and adjusted the lenses. We drew the curtains, and Merrill supplied some magic to power the projector. We stared at the glowing white rectangle on the wall, waiting for the show to begin.

I found myself staring at a swamp. Nothing happened for a good minute or two, and then Flemeth walked into shot, still dressed like an aviator. She looked directly at the camera, and then walked towards it. To be honest, I wasn't that surprised when colour flooded the picture and she stepped right off the wall and into the room with us.

"Ah, and here we are."

"Asha'bellanar," Merrill bowed low before the witch.

Flemeth's voice was crawling up my spine, just like it had in Fereldan. I didn't really mind.

She turned and looked at me, those pale gold eyes boring into mine. "So refreshing to meet someone who keeps their promises. I half expected my film to end up in a pawn shop."

I shook my head, "I do what I say I will."

"That makes you quite dangerous, I'm sure."

"What are you going to do now?"

"Neither of us will want for things to do."

"Will I see you again?" I asked.

She looked at me with a funny smile tugging at her painted lips, "Would you like to?"

"Well, yes." I gave her a roguish grin. I could see Merrill staring at me with wide eyes from the corner of my eye. Not showing enough respect to 'Asha'bellanar' I guess.

What can I say? I've always had a thing for danger.

She threw her head back hand laughed. "Bold. I like that. Perhaps we will, boy."

She addressed Merrill again, "It is time for me to go. Do you have what I require?"

"Yes." Merrill bowed again.

Flemeth led us out of the house, and Merrill hurried to the barn. She started unlatching the doors at the end, and we went to help while Flemeth looked on.

The barn didn't house hay, or even a still.

The cloth draped over it couldn't disguise the shape of the aeroplane sitting in the barn, its nose pointing down the length of the grassy area.

"Where did you get that?" Varric asked, staring up at it as we pulled the covering off it.

"We made it, of course," Merrill said.

"Out of what, empty tins?"

"Out of canvas and wood and-"

"I think he was being rhetorical, Merrill."

Flemeth settled her cap and goggles onto her head and climbed into the machine. At her direction, I swung the propeller and the engine rattled to life. We hurried out of the way, and watching in respectful silence as she sped down the length of the field and soared into the clear blue sky.

We walked back to the village in a kind of stunned silence.

"So, um, there's just one more thing," Merrill said. "I'm going back to Kirkwall with you. That is, if you don't mind. I can't stay here."

I raised an eyebrow, "You realise you'll be an apostate. The Templars will capture you if they find you."

"I know. I'll be careful. I don't really have any other choice. And …and I want to go." She stared at me with those huge green eyes. "I can give you a lift back, if you like."

That got my attention. "Wait, you've got a car?"

"Did you build it as well?" Varric asked.

"No of course not," she said. "We bought it with all the money we make from the corn liquor. We've made a fortune since prohibition."

"Don't tell me that!" Aveline said pressing her palm to her forehead. "I should confiscate your car. It's the proceeds of a crime."

"Oh please don't."

"Not until we get back to Kirkwall anyway," I pointed out.

"Fine. I'll pretend I didn't hear."

Merrill hurried off to get her bag and her car, which turned out to be Model T, and we all squeezed in. Aveline sat up the front, while I was wedged in between Anders and Varric, with Horse sitting on my lap. We returned to Kirkwall as the sun was setting. We rattled down deserted roads, raising a plume of white dust behind us, the wind in our hair.

"Today's been really, really, absolutely wonderful," Merrill said, her eyes shining as she turned to look at us all.

"Eyes on the road!" Aveline reminded her.

"Oh right. But it's been so much fun, and you're all so nice to me."

"What a sweetheart," I said.

"Hrumph." That was Anders.

"Aww," I butted him with my elbow, "you're a sweetheart too."

Varric and I laughed as his ears turned pink and he muttered to himself. Merrill had missed our conversation, but joined in the laughter.


	4. Tethras Expedition Grand Depature

Merrill settled into a place in the Alienage, not that far from my office. I figured either her folks were sending her money, or she'd stolen an awful lot of it from them because she never seemed concerned about finding a job. Not a lot seemed to concern her even when it rightly should have.

She found everything exciting, including my job and to be honest I took advantage of that whenever I needed a car or an extra piece of steel. No matter what she might have thought when we first met, I ain't the type to keep a skirt out of a fight if she can hold her own.

Anders worried that the Templars would find her, and Varric was more concerned about the lowlifes that haunted the Alienage and made life uneasy for cute elf girls. Merrill tried unsuccessfully to get Aveline to go to her feminist meetings and talk about life in the police force. Aveline was flat against people aiming for a badge for any reason other than wanting to collar bad guys and refused. They were arguments I stayed well away from.

Business wasn't booming, but I made enough to scrape by. Carver recovered with only some faint scars that he liked to show off at every opportunity. The Tethras expedition finally departed, to Varric's relief. And Gamlen was still useless.

It was late afternoon, and it had been a slow day. I looked up from my comic when the bell over my door rang, but I looked down again when I saw it was only Anders. At least he didn't have any pamphlets with him that I could see. I kept forgetting to read the last lot he gave me.

"Shall I tell Ma to set an extra place?" I asked, flipping the page. "Meatloaf tonight."

"No. I mean, yes. If you don't mind, thank you. But that's not why I'm here." He lowered his voice, "I'm here officially."

I stared at him blankly, "Should I have arranged for a brass band?"

"No, I'm hiring you." He sat down in the chair opposite my desk.

"Oh, sure. Twenty-five silver a day, plus expenses."

"I didn't realise it was so much." His face fell.

"You think I'm cheap?" I asked. He actually started getting out of his chair when I laughed at him, "Siddown you sap. I ain't gonna charge you. You saved my brother's life. What kind of ass do you think I am? Don't answer that."

"I'm not really in the mood for jokes, Hawke." He took off his glasses and then put them back on again.

"Okay," I tossed my comic aside, "what's the problem? Is Purrsival missing again?"

"No." He shifted in the chair for a while, then flung himself out of it and started pacing around the room. Anders wasn't the calmest of people but this was out of character, even for him. "I have a …a friend. He's in trouble and I need your help to get him out of Kirkwall."

"Where do you want to take him?"

"It doesn't matter where. He's being held prisoner in the Gallows-"

"Wait, wait, wait, stop. Anders. I'm an apostate, you're an apostate. We can't just bust someone out of the Gallows. They'll tear the city apart looking for us, if by some miracle we survive."

"We won't have to go to the Gallows. Look, we were exchanging letters, and he was saying the administrator, Meredith, was getting more and more strict. And then the letters just stopped. I sent him a note; he'll meet us in the Chantry tonight. In Hightown."

I couldn't believe my ears. "So the letters stop, and you think it's for a bad reason, so you send another one? One that explicitly says where you, an apostate, are going to be at a certain time? Anders, how did someone like you get a medical degree anyway?"

"I don't actually have a medical degree. I did start studying for one back in Fereldan – Look; I know it's going to be dangerous. That's why I'm asking for your help. We need to get Karl out of there, no matter who else is with him."

I buried my face in my hands. If this had been a client off the street I would have thrown him back out on it again. It sounded like suicide.

"Please, I'm begging you!" He leant across the table and grabbed my wrist.

"Don't beg! Maker's teeth." I glared at him while he stared sadly at me with the sort of eyes Horse likes to use when he wants seconds. "I'm you're friend, aren't I? Of course I'll help." I leaned back in my chair and banged on the door to the apartment. "Carver!"

My brother poked his head into the room, "Oh, I'm to be invited to the apostate collectivist meeting now, am I?"

"We're going out tonight. Bring a gun. Bring two."

* * *

><p>We brought Merrill as well. I figured it would be fastest to drive Karl out of the city, and she was only too happy to help another mage. I would have been even happier to bring Varric and his cold steel lady-friend, but with Karl included it would be a squeeze in the fivver as it was.<p>

Templars.

I'd spent my entire life hiding from them. My heart was starting to beat fast and my hands were clammy. Maybe Karl would be there, and we'd walk right out again and have time for a drink at the Hanged Man before midnight. But no one got that lucky, not when the browncoats were involved.

To be honest, I didn't really expect to see Karl at all.

We parked out the front of the Chantry, ready for a quick getaway, everyone except Merrill wearing glum expressions. This part of Hightown was almost deserted; I could hear music and cars from the red lantern district and I wished I had reason to be a few blocks over. Not here.

"Let me talk to Karl," Anders said, as we climbed the stairs out the front. "He won't be expecting so many of us."

I strained my ears at the door, but could hear nothing from inside the cathedral. I'm not much of a religious man; I'd never been before. Once we were inside, I only took a quick glance at the high, ornate ceiling and the huge statues that flanked the pulpit. It sure showed up the shabby little Chantry we had in Lothering.

Trying to be quiet on the hard stone floor we hurried along the side, by unspoken agreement keeping to the shadows. He wasn't on the ground floor, and we headed up more stairs.

To my surprise, there was a solitary figure standing off to the side, wearing those weird monkish robes they make the mages in the circles wear. I sensed Anders sag with relief before hurrying forward to his friend.

"Karl!" he called in a stage whisper.

Karl turned. I sucked in a sharp breath. It wasn't the dull stare. Or even the shaven spots at his temples. It was the burn marks, still fresh and angry from where they'd pressed the electrodes to the sides of his head.

They call it tranquillity, but there's nothing tranquil about having five hundred volts arced across your grey matter, for as long as it takes. It burns out that which makes a mage a mage, and a great deal more.

"I knew you would never give up, Anders," Karl said flatly.

Merrill touched my arm and then covered her mouth in horror.

"What's wrong? Why are you talking like that?" I could hear his voice start to crack. He knew.

"Anders, we have to go!" It was already too late.

"The Templars will teach you to control yourself," Karl said.

I was already diving behind a pew when brown coated figures in bowler hats materialised from the corners of the room. Carver ducked behind a wall, and the report from his Colt echoed around the cathedral. I bared my teeth when I heard the thump of a body falling.

This does not break my no-murder policy. This is pure survival.

I could see Merrill crouched a few feet away from me, power rippling down her blade. Carver's fire was returned, and we all ducked as bullets bit into the wooden pews, splinters flying.

Well, not all of us ducked. Karl was still standing there, unperturbed, but Anders was too.

Magic was coiling around him, serpentine. I could see flashes of light as bullets hit it and were deflected.

"Don't listen to them!" I hollered, sure I knew what kind of poison was being poured into his mind from the Fade. If he lost it now-

He didn't lose it. At least, I don't think he did.

"You will never take another mage as you took him!" Anders roared, glowing from head to toe. I could see the scalpel in his hand only as a blinding point of light. He leaped forward, stepping right up onto the pews and running at his attackers.

"Anders!" Merrill shouted at him, but he was beyond hearing.

All I could do was follow. He was an excellent distraction. The Templar's jaw shattered under my fist as I charged down beside the pews, my fists glowing, and I could hear Carver's gun again. I kept my head down, raising it only to send a pew smashing back into a pair of Templars, knocking them off their feet.

I hadn't let my magic off the leash of a while. There's danger here too. The whispers tell me how good I am, how much better I could be, how easy it is to grab onto that extra power. Don't need it. I can knock a dozen men off their feet half a room away. Merrill was a whirling dervish of flying rock, light glittering off her blade.

And as for Anders, I kept out of his way. I didn't know what kind of magic he was using, but he was practically flying around the room. I'd look away for a moment and he'd be somewhere else, his blade slicing through wood and steel and bone.

I looked around for my next target, and realised there were none. I could hear a sharp ringing sound as Carver's last shell casing danced briefly against the polished floor.

"Still alive, Trip?" he called.

"Yeah, I suppose I am."

"Well that was exciting," Merrill said. She slid her blade back into her parasol, which she'd discarded at the start of the fight.

"Anders?"

He was talking to Karl, who seemed better for some reason.

"They are far more vigilant than they are in Fereldan. They found a letter I was writing you."

"They fried your brains for writing a letter?" I stalked over to them, still buzzing with magic and adrenaline. Father had spoken of the Circle as oppressive, but it had all seemed so far away, just stories. I couldn't imagine him as a young man until now.

"You cannot imagine it," Karl said, "all the colour, all the music in the world, gone. Your wits scattered in the wind."

"But you're better now?" I asked. "We can still get you out of here."

"I don't know what you did, Anders, but I already feel it fading." He grasped Anders' hands. "Please, kill me before it goes again." He squeezed his eyes shut, and I could see tears trickling from them.

"Is there really nothing any of us can do?" I asked, although I knew the answer.

Anders just looked at me. He looked about a hundred years old. I nodded, and firmly took Merrill by the elbow. Carver didn't need any encouragement to leave.

We waited outside the Chantry, at the top of the steps. Carver reloaded his Colt. I was desperate for a smoke but wasn't game to light one in case we were seen. Even Merrill was silent. Seeing one friend have to mercy kill someone they loved was more than enough for a lifetime. I was glad I hadn't asked Aveline to come with us that night.

We all jumped when the doors opened. Anders didn't look at us, didn't even give us time to ask if he wanted a lift back to Darktown. He hesitated for a second and then dashed down the stairs.

"We shouldn't hang around either," Carver said.

"Yeah. I guess the noise didn't make it out. But someone's gonna stumble across a lot of dead Templars sooner or later." I didn't feel right about any of this, but I know when I'm backed into a corner and I know when my only option is to fight back.

Just for writing a letter. It made my guts twist to think of it.

We were halfway down the steps when Merrill yelled, "Hey! That's my car!"

"You have got to be kidding me," I muttered as I watched her car pull away from the steps and make a sharp turn around the corner. I had to hope I knew the area as well as I thought I did.

"Come on! We'll cut them off near the markets." The three of us took the last dozen steps at a run, and pelted across the square before squeezing down an alleyway between two shops.

"Hey now-" The tough stepped back when Carver waved his gun at them. We were obviously too much trouble to bother trying to rob. We burst out onto the street a block further south, panting and gasping as the well-dressed crowd around us parted in surprise.

"There-" I pointed. Merrill's motor was half a block away, navigating traffic. I ground my teeth in frustration; we'd never catch it on foot. Then I heard the clanging of a cable-car. Slow on the uphill, but they could really pick up speed on the downhill.

Worth a try.

I put on a burst of speed, the fellas in the cable-car laughing and calling encouragement as we ran alongside. Merrill hooked the end of her parasol over the edge of a window and pulled herself up onto the cable-car, to a round of applause. She held her hand out to me, but I wasn't going to take it; I'd just pull her out again.

Carver swept past, leaped up onto the side and grabbed my collar. I scrambled aboard somehow, the driver swearing at us as we clambered through the windows at the back.

"Where's the car?" I gasped.

Merrill pointed. We'd nearly caught up; it was right next to our cable-car. But our window of opportunity was small; the cable-car was already starting to slow towards its next stop.

I wasn't going to get this close and just give up. I could see the thief, just a dark shape in a hat at the wheel. I hurried down to the front of the tram, Carver and Merrill at my heels.

"I'm going to make a jump for it," I warned them.

"Ooh!" Merrill's eyes lit up.

"What am I supposed to tell Ma when you kill yourself?" Carver said sceptically.

"That you didn't exactly break your neck trying to stop me?" I suggested with a grin.

I turned my attention to the open doorway before he could change his mind. I don't rightly know what had gotten into me either. The events at the Chantry had left such a sour taste in my mouth anything would do to distract me. Even leaping from a moving cable-car.

I made the most of the two steps of run-up I had room for, and hurled myself into space as the driver wished me good riddance. My arms windmilled as I sailed through the air, headlights glittering and horns blasting around me. I thought I'd missed. Merrill's car seemed to slide out from under me, and then I landed painfully in the back seat in a bruised tangle.

"Venhedis!" the driver hissed, and I felt the car swerve.

"Asshole!" I snarled in response. "Stop the car!"

I struggled upright and swung my fist at him. To my surprise, he took one hand off the wheel and caught it. I wasn't expecting that kind of speed. He twisted it hard and I pulled myself further forward and clobbered him across the ear with my left hand – no magic in it; too many people, and besides, I don't do the murder thing.

He couldn't avoid that one, and his hat fell off as his head snapped back. I caught a glimpse of white hair when the car swerved again, jolting as the wheel mounted the curb briefly. Without a hand free I overbalanced and toppled into the thief's lap. We careened over the road for some horrible seconds as we wrestled for control of the wheel.

"Brakes! Brakes!" I grabbed the wheel and yanked it as we missed another car by inches.

He hit the brakes.

We came to a stop with a screech and the smell of burning rubber.

I retreated back to the passenger seat and found myself staring into a pair of green elven eyes. I gasped like a stranded fish while I waited for my breath to return and my heart to slow down.

"You're not here to kill me?" the elf asked. He didn't sound local, but I couldn't place the accent.

"For a moment or two there I was seriously considering it," I told him. I should have known there'd be more to it than just a robbery. He was dressed in a really swell pinstripe suit; but he wore it like a uniform, not like he owned it exactly.

"I apologise for stealing your car." He twisted his head around and looked up the slope. Carver and Merrill were trotting down towards us as traffic began to flow again. "I needed it."

"That makes it all right then," I said with dazed sarcasm. "Who the hell are you, anyway?"

He turned his attention back to me. I noticed a pair of odd markings curving under his bottom lip. "My name is Fenris."

My breath had come back to me; my heart galloped on regardless.


	5. Police Raid Darktown Still

I retrieved my hat from where it had fallen on the back seat and doffed it at Merrill as she ran up. "Your motor, madam."

"Oh thank you so much, Trip. When you leaped from the cable-car you looked like a great big bat. For a second or two, before you crashed."

"I see." No one saw the world in quite the same way Merrill did.

"What are we going to do with the elf?" Carver asked. "Turn him over to Aveline?"

"He says his name's Fenris."

"If my pursuers were half as determined as you, I'd be dead by now," Fenris remarked, paying Carver no attention.

"Flattery will get you everywhere." I turned my attention to Carver, "I say we let him go. The last thing I want is to tell the cops we were right outside the Chantry when the car got stolen. That invites further questions."

"You have a point." Carver swung the driver's door open, "You're lucky Trip likes your face."

The elf started to get out then paused, looking back at me still in the passenger seat, "Are you in the military perhaps?"

I shook my head, "Carver served at Ostagar. I didn't."

"You're unusually skilled for a civilian."

"I'm a private detective. My name is Trip Hawke."

"I could use your help."

Somehow, I wasn't surprised. "Well I don't work for free. Who exactly is after you, anyway?"

"Imperium Secret Service."

I whistled. "I say we go somewhere quieter to talk."

"All of us?" the elf asked.

"Carver is my brother. He's muscle; Maker knows he doesn't have any brains. And this is Merrill, she drives."

"Hello!" Merrill smiled sweetly at him.

"You've quite an organisation."

"Oh, no, we're just friends," Merrill explained. "I help because it's fun."

He clearly didn't quite know what to make of _that_.

We parked a bit more sedately outside a hotel and found a quiet spot in the corner of the bar to talk. Only Merrill paid extra for the special ingredients; I was in Fereldan only a few years ago, and I still remembered what beer tasted like. Back in Lothering we wouldn't have used corn liquor for anything but stripping paint.

Our smoke spiralled slowly up to join the haze hanging below the ceiling as Fenris told his story.

"As I said, I am being hunted by Imperial secret service agents. They are trying to recover Imperium property."

"You stole from the Imperium? What in the world did you steal?" I asked.

A ghost of a smile flitted across his face, "Only myself. They lured me into the open; I knew I would be facing a trap, but I was not aware," he trailed off, staring into his drink and frowning.

"So you stole Merrill's car to escape. Judging by the fact that you're currently stationary, I'd say mission accomplished. What do you need me for?"

"What I had not anticipated was that my handler, a Magister named Denarius, is here to oversee my recapture personally. I suppose I should not be surprised; I am his prized pet after all," he spat. "But he cannot stay in Kirkwall long. Tevinter Magisters are not welcome here, especially when travelling incognito."

"So you want to go after this Denarius. Fair enough, I suppose, but I don't kill people. Well…" I remembered earlier events at the Chantry and hung my head. "I don't _murder_ people. I'm not an assassin."

Fenris looked at me, "I am. Although it is not my choice."

Carver recoiled, "Trip, should we even be talking to him? He could have poisoned our drinks."

"Have you killed a lot of people then?" Merrill asked.

I didn't say anything. I honestly didn't have a clue what to say.

"I know you have questions," Fenris said, giving Merrill an odd look, "but if we are to catch Denarius, we must move quickly. If I do not do something about this, he will continue to hunt me; he will not rest until I am once again collared in the service of Tevinter."

"You're making me draw a very fine line, Fenris." I shifted my jaw. I'd started this evening knowing full well I would probably be killing Templars. Was there anything substantially different about this request? "I would not see anyone made a slave, not even a hit man – especially an unwilling one."

"I will find a way to repay you, I swear it."

I wasn't exactly filled with confidence, but like it or not we were committed.

* * *

><p>We found ourselves back in Hightown. Denarius owned or borrowed or stole – it wasn't really made clear – a mansion, not too far from my family's old place. We avoided the Chantry, and Fenris didn't comment on our rather circuitous route. He didn't say anything much; Carver was sitting as far away as possible from him on the back seat and casting suspicious glances in his direction.<p>

"I just need Denarius," Fenris spoke finally, "and any documents he might have. I'll leave the details up to you all right?"

"Absolutely."

I stepped out of the car and pushed open the gate. Merrill and Carver were at my heels as we strode up to the front door, Fenris hanging back and taking his turn to look suspicious.

I seized the fancy doorknocker and used it insistently. Eventually it was opened by a fella with an ugly scar on his face and an uglier accent.

"Whaddya want?" he glared at us.

I hit him under the jaw with the palm of my hand and as his head snapped back I drove my knee into his crotch. See, I'm good, probably good enough to make some money in the ring. But I fight dirty too. I just can't help it; my Father taught me to win, to put a man down so he won't get up again until you're far away. The browncoats fight dirty, after all. An apostate only has to lose one fight for it to be his last.

"I want to come in," I told the groaning heap on the floor.

Carver drew his Colt and Merrill unsheathed her parasol-sword. When Fenris joined us a moment later, he was carrying a gun too.

"You fight empty-handed?" he asked with some respect.

"Well, I don't use guns," I said casually. "I wouldn't turn my nose up at a broken bottle or a chair though."

"Every fight's a bar fight with you, then?"

"Better'n a war," I pointed out.

"Huh. True."

The ground floor of the house was deserted.

"Maybe they've already gone," Carver said poking his nose into yet another empty room.

"No," Fenris growled. "Not when I am so close. Denarius!" I jumped as he shouted. "I'm here for you. Come out and fight!"

As if in answer, the floor rippled like smoke.

"Not good, Trip," Carver said, backing up.

"Magic," Fenris ground out with disgust.

The floor erupted. Shadowed figures smelling of tar and rotting meat surrounded us, single purple eyes glowing in their heads. I recognised them from my nightmares. Carver's gun spat and the shade recoiled slightly.

"Lemmie show you how it's done, little brother." I slammed my fist into my palm, reaching again for my magic. I flung my hands apart and the shades were tossed back across the room. Merrill stepped into the gap, electricity dancing along her blade and arcing outwards.

I glanced over my shoulder to see Fenris removing his fist from the heart of one of the shades behind us, the strange markings on his chin glowing brightly – I now noticed they decorated his hands as well.

Okay then.

I didn't have time to reflect on this. The shades had recovered from my attack and were converging again. I picked up a chair from across the room with my mind and flung it at them. Carver picked up another the more conventional way; bullets just irritated them, but they could eventually be beaten to a pulp, if you could stand the smell.

When the room quietened and the spirits had gone Fenris stood a short distance from us, his shoulders hunched.

"Are you a mage?" Merrill asked brightly.

He turned on her, stalking over with a face like a thundercloud. "I am not. A mage. Is that clear?" He loomed over her and Merrill leaned away from him, although she didn't look scared so much as worried.

"All right, Fenris. I'm sorry I asked." She patted her hat to make sure it was still in place. "Seemed like an obvious question though," she added quietly.

"Denarius sends spirits to do his dirty work for him. Come on," Fenris snarled and stalked out of the room.

"I guess he wasn't impressed by your demonstration," Carver said smugly.

"Or maybe he's like you," I replied, "struck stupid with envy." Despite my smart mouth, I had to admit Carver was probably right. I wondered why I felt it made a difference; I'm used to people getting upset when confronted with magic.

Fenris started tearing the place apart. It was all we could do to keep up with him as he kicked open doors and stalked down the hallways. The master bedroom on the upper level was locked, and Fenris opened it by the simple method of putting a couple of bullets through the lock. He shoved the door open and we followed him in.

"Empty." He sounded so bereft. I had to wonder what he was looking for.

"Maybe your documents are still here," I said, shouldering past him to start pulling open drawers. This Denarius had left in a hurry; it didn't even look like anyone had even attempted to pack before fleeing; everything was in its place.

But there were no passports, and no documents.

Fenris stood in the centre of the room, clenching and unclenching his fists. Whatever this thing with Denarius was, it was beyond personal. It didn't strike me as wise to ask him about it right then though.

"Do you smell smoke?" Merrill asked.

"Now that you mention it, yeah." We exchanged glances and then as one we made a run for the door. On the landing the smell was much stronger and we could hear what sounded like footsteps on the floor below.

"He's still here!" Fenris snarled, and charged off ahead.

I swore and slid down the banister after him. The living room was ablaze. Standing in the middle of it was a molten figure, radiating so much heat I squinted and turned my face away. It was between us and the door. Of Fenris there was no sign.

"A spirit!" Merrill cried.

"Use frost," I muttered.

"I don't know how."

"What! Every mage learns elemental magic."

"Lightning's an element, you know." At least it wasn't totally ineffective.

I was drawing the heat out of the air, ice crystallizing on my hands as the demon writhed under the attack. I wasn't very good at elemental magic. Carver flung a chair at the creature, but it raised a glowing hand and the furniture ignited in mid flight. Carver swore.

The curtains near the window were ablaze, and my eyes watered from the smoke as we coughed.

My reserves were running low. It wasn't exactly like physical exhaustion, but my head was buzzing and aching and I couldn't see straight. It was like being unpleasantly drunk. I gritted my teeth and dug deeper, ignoring all the temptations that flitted around my mind like gnats.

I poured everything I had into it, and to my surprise, the demon stilled, frost glittering in a thin layer over its superheated core.

And then it shattered around a glowing elven fist. The demon popped like a balloon, and its remains oozed onto the floor before evaporating. Fenris flexed his fingers and met my eyes before turning away. Carver grabbed my arm to steady me – I wasn't feeling too good - and we followed, holding our sleeves to our faces. It wasn't my mansion; as far as I was concerned, it could burn.

Coughing, we stumbled into fresh air. I shook my head, trying to clear it. Fenris put his back to the wall and lit a cigarette.

"I take it Denarius had gone?" I said between coughs, wondering if I'd get paid. No documents, no Magister. It was looking like I'd practically turned my brain inside out for nothing.

"It never ends," Fenris scowled. "I escape a land of dark magic only to have it hunt me at every turn. It is a plague burned into my flesh and my soul."

I didn't say anything, although I wheezed a bit, but he was really making a performance of it. Even Carver shot me a 'is he for real?' look. Maybe it was a Tevinter thing. I always thought it was the Orlesians who were supposed to be dramatic.

"And now," he looked at me, "I find myself in the company of yet another mage."

"Mage, not Magister," I pointed out.

"The only difference is one of opportunity. Tell me then, what manner of mage are you?"

I folded my arms. I was trying to help this fella and this is the kind of response I get? "A free one," I growled. "Be advised I intend to remain that way before you start spouting off to the browncoats."

"I have no intention of trying to turn you in. You are skilled, I know that much."

"If you have a problem with my brother, you have a problem with me," Carver said, sticking his jaw out and trying not to look intimidated.

Fenris's shoulders dropped, "I imagine I appear ungrateful."

"I wasn't gonna say anything, but now that you mention it. Yeah."

"I apologise, for nothing could be further from the truth. I did not find Denarius, but I still owe you a debt." To my surprise, he reached into his pocket and handed over a pile of coins. I didn't count 'em but I saw some gold.

"Well, thank you."

I tucked the money away safely; I'd offer some to Merrill later, but she always turned it down. Fenris dropped his cigarette and stepped on it, his hands in his pockets. I'd almost say he was hovering. I raised my eyebrows at him.

"Should you find yourself in need of assistance," he began, "I would gladly render it."

"Five minutes ago you were accusing me of …well, magic. And now you want a job?"

"You are not Denarius."

"Took him long enough," Merrill said mildly, brushing soot off her skirt.

Fenris frowned at her and continued, "Whether you are anything like him remains to be seen."

"So who exactly is this Denarius? What did he do to you to make you so angry?"

"These markings you keep staring at," he began. I winced and looked away. I didn't realise I'd been staring; I decided to keep it to myself that it wasn't the markings that drew my attention. "They are lyrium burned into my flesh. They provide the power that Denarius needs in his duties for the Imperium. When I escaped, I made him look very bad in front of the other Magisters. They want their investment back at any cost, even if they must rip it from my body."

Once again I was left with nothing to say. I'd never even heard of such a thing, but the more I thought about it, the more it made a horrible kind of sense. Almost blood magic, but not quite. Cheaper in the long run than imbibing lyrium directly.

I had to say something. Luckily, one of my many talents is letting my mouth speak for itself.

"That would be a terrible waste of a perfectly fine body." Carver shot me an odd look and I nearly choked. The downside of speaking without thinking is that I often end up putting my foot in it.

Fenris's uncertain laugh turned into a kind of strangled cough.

"Yes, anyway. I know nothing of how he did this to me. All I know is that it caused an unimaginable amount of pain, and I am the first to survive it. I remember nothing of my life before I became his puppet. They trained me for things they found useful; a weapon, a power source. With no will of my own they could ask me to kill anyone, and I would, without question."

"Well if I ask you to assassinate someone, feel free to question me. Because I'd have obviously gone off my rocker." If I hadn't already. I handed him my card. "Here, that's my office. You're welcome to visit or let me know when you find somewhere to stay."

"I can see flames in the windows," Merrill said. "They're quite pretty."

"I think we should go now," Carver added. I agreed. Fenris dipped his head and disappeared into the shadows while we piled into Merrill's car.

"A perfectly fine body?" Carver asked innocently.

"Shuttup, Carver." I could feel the mother of all headaches coming on.


	6. Chantry Horror: 12 Templars Dead

The next morning everything that had happened seemed like a distant dream. But real it was; I had enough money to pay rent for the next month and the papers were screaming about the events in Hightown the night before. A massacre of Templars in the Chantry – I skimmed that bit – and someone later identified as a Tevinter agent was found once a fire was extinguished in Hightown. The papers were suggesting it was some kind of grand conspiracy. Administrator Meridith blamed blood mages.

The truth was far stranger.

The events of the evening had also left me with a couple of problems, neither of which I was keen to deal with. The first was Anders. He was a friend, and he had to be hurting. I'd ask Ma to bake him something and I'd take it to him later, but I didn't know what I was likely to find.

The other problem was the elf, who hated mages but apparently not quite enough to keep away from us. I'd spent my dreams ignoring demons with silver hair and lanky limbs and was in a bad mood about the whole thing. The demons were confused and so was I. I consoled myself with the idea that I was unlikely to see Fenris again. As far as I was concerned he'd more than paid for my services already.

I looked up hopefully when my door opened, and was more than a little annoyed at myself for being disappointed it was only Varric. He nodded at the paper I was reading.

"See, that's what happens when you don't take me along when you go to Hightown."

"I wanted to, pal, but there wasn't room in the car." I narrowed my eyes, "Wait, how do you know I had anything to do with all of this? I'm not responsible for everything that happens in this city."

Varric shrugged, "An elf showed up this morning."

I snapped my head up to look at him. "And?"

"He told me you helped him out last night. He said he'll be moving in to that mansion as soon as all the police clear out." Varric handed me a card, "And that you can leave messages at this number if you need to."

"Someone summoned a rage demon in that mansion," I said, staring at the card. "Is he insane?"

"He did give that impression."

Varric sat down and I told him the whole story. Well, most of it.

"Poor Blondie," was the dwarf's immediate response.

I took a deep breath, "I'd better go check on him. Don't want him doing anything stupid."

"What about Fenris?"

I shrugged, "I don't know."

"He's going to be high-maintenance, Trip. Especially if his old friends keep looking for him."

"Don't I know it. Maybe it would be best to leave him be."

* * *

><p>The clinic was closed. I banged on the door.<p>

"We're closed," was the muffled reply.

"Come on, Anders. People are dying out here. They're wasting away without you." No response. I played my ace. "I told Ma you weren't feeling well and she baked you some cookies."

The door opened.

It was dark inside. Anders shuffled aside and let me in, his head bowed. I handed him the bag of cookies as I nudged a cat out of the way with my foot.

"I'm sorry about Karl," I said.

"So you thought you'd check up on me? Make sure I hadn't gone crazy?" Anders led me past his clinic to his rooms at the back – I think they had to have once been store rooms, because they were tiny.

"Well, yeah. Don't make me get mushy, I was worried about you. When the browncoats appeared I thought you were gonna lose it. I'm a mage too; I know what was going on in your head."

Anders waved me into a chair near a cluttered desk and sat on the bed with a funny smile. "I don't think you do. Oh, these are still _warm._ I'm going to petition the Chantry to have your mother canonised."

"I'll tell her you were appreciative." I lit a cigarette. "So are you going to tell me what _was_ going on?"

Anders rested his forearms on his knees and stared at the floor. "I met a spirit. Not last night, years ago."

As I smoked he told me the whole sordid story. It was all a load of baloney, of course. I'm a detective; I can usually tell when someone is lying and Anders wasn't very good at it. Whatever was going on, it had to be worse than the story he told - which was pretty terrible to start with.

I didn't say any of this, of course. He was obviously hurting; I was here to make him feel better, not worse. And I don't hold the rest of the world to the same standards I hold myself. If his 'Justice' made him feel better about himself, I wasn't going to pick on him for it.

I took a deep breath, "Justice didn't make you do anything I wouldn't have expected a reasonable man to do in your place. I'd never seen a newly-minted tranquil before. I couldn't imagine what it would be like seeing someone I _knew…_Bethany or my father, or you."

He looked up from the floor. "Oh. I," he ran a hand over his head. "Expected you'd, well, I don't know, really. I've never told anyone this before."

"Well, I wouldn't spread it around." I grinned at him, "I'm a detective, and it's my job to get the truth out of everyone sooner or later."

"Let me know if you ever succeed with Varric."

"Ah, there we go. Anders is coming back to us." I clapped him on the shoulder, "Karl needs a proper farewell, you got anything to drink here?"

Anders considered. "Milk and medical alcohol."

I laughed, "Okay, milk it is. I like not being blind."

"Thank you, Hawke," he smiled. "You're a true friend."

"No, drink first and then get maudlin. You're doing this all wrong."

It was the weirdest wake I ever attended. We drank milk and ate Ma's cookies while Anders' cats butted our feet and had to be shooed off the table. I tried to steer Anders off the topic of the Templars, with varying success.

"You didn't grow up in the Circle. You couldn't imagine living there. Everything is about order and rules and Templars."

"I gotta say, it doesn't sound like my kind of place. There had to be something good about it though, right?" Father had treated the whole apostate thing like a game; hide and seek with the browncoats was nothing more serious than skipping a day of school. He told of his escape from the Circle like it was an adventure – when I'd been a kid I'd dreamed of doing the same thing. I only realised the danger when I was older, when I'd made some mistakes.

"Well, the apprentices, we found ways to make that bearable." Anders was getting that serious tone of voice and staring at the floor again. If he started feeding me another line about a spirit I was going to leave, I decided. "Karl and I, well, he was the first. When we were together, we could forget that we were prisoners. I never thought it would end like this."

Whoa, hold your horses.

"Wait, what? You and Karl? The guy with the beard?"

"He didn't have a beard then," Anders said cautiously. He took his glasses off and polished them nervously. Apparently for Anders sharing one secret meant sharing a whole bucket load. I didn't think he was lying this time though.

I should have shut up. Or changed the subject. Or told him I wasn't prejudiced but it wasn't my thing.

"But isn't it difficult?"

"I've always believed people fall in love with a person, not a body. Why would you shy away from loving someone just because they're like you?" he asked earnestly.

"Hey! No one said anything about love, pal." I knew I sounded far too defensive; Anders just looked confused.

"Does it bother you?" He asked.

"No, _you_ don't bother me. I mean good luck with it. But what I meant was…" What did I mean? "I mean, how do you…"

"Err, well…" I'd swear his glasses were fogging up. He was turning red, anyway.

I scowled at my glass, "Okay, milk is not doing it for me. I'm not a cat. Let's go out for a real drink."

"I thought you didn't drink?" Anders said curiously.

"Only because I've yet to find anything in this damn city worth drinking. Today, I'm lowering my standards. As are you, come on."

"If you're paying, I'm not arguing."

At least it seemed to cheer him up.


	7. Merideth to Crack Down on Blood Magic

I swear I had every intention of letting Fenris slip my mind, and chalk everything up to a bout of temporary insanity. I got enough trouble without adding whatever the hell _he_ was to the pile.

But events have a way of moving by themselves, and trouble just seems to find me.

I didn't expect Aveline to be the one to bring it though. She didn't really approve of some of the things I did, but I could dig where she couldn't. For all her faults, she knew the difference between breaking the rules the wrong way and the right way.

"Trip! I've got to talk to you."

I hafta say, working from home has its drawbacks. The phone was in the hallway for one thing, and most of the time it was Gamlen's creditors who were calling.

Carver and I were amazed when we found out Gamlen even had a telephone. Back in Lothering the only connection in the entire village was at the inn, and people would queue to talk on the party line to other villages doing much the same thing. In Kirkwall, plenty of people had private telephones. That's progress for you.

"Can it wait until tomorrow? I've got a case."

"No. This is more important. I'll see you in half an hour." She hung up.

It didn't look like I had any choice but to wait for her. "Carver!"

Carver was in his room, scowling. He did a lot of that recently, I wasn't sure why.

"Something else has come up. You'll have to track down the old lady's kid."

"And what if I have better things to do with my time?" Carver said, folding his arms.

"Then you can tell Ma you're knocking back business." I didn't have time for his prevaricating. "What the hell is biting you anyway? You're starting to look as sour as Gamlen."

"You want to know? Okay, fine." He stood up and shoved a handful of papers under my nose. "Just when were you planning on telling me about these?"

"What? These are the old letters I grabbed from the vault." I shrugged. "I gave them to Ma. I didn't even figure you'd be interested. Any conspiracies are in your head, Carver."

"Look at this. A Templar helped Father escape from the Circle. They're not all monsters, Trip."

I really wasn't in the mood for a lecture on the Templars. "Are you going somewhere with this?"

Carver took the letters back and carefully put them away. "It looks like I'm going nowhere, doesn't it?" When he left, he slammed the door so hard the pictures on the walls jumped.

Aveline arrived exactly when she said she would, still in uniform. She sat down in my office and refused a drink.

"Okay, I cleared my day for you. What's happening?"

"A piece of information has fallen into my lap, Trip. To be honest, I don't know what to do about it." She crossed her legs and set her cap down on her knee. "What do you know about Qunari?"

That was not what I'd been expecting. "Not a lot. Big guys with big ideas and bigger guns. They keep sending delegations to open an embassy, and making everyone nervous about it. I know what's in the papers but not much more. I figure they're Tevinter's problem, not Kirkwall's."

"Right. Well, they may very well be our problem soon. I collared a couple of thugs putting the screws on an elf down by the docks yesterday. I thought it was just a shakedown until one of them started talking tough. He said he was acting under authorisation from the mayor's office, and that the Qunari were going to get what was coming to them."

"If he was gunning for Qunari, why was he beating on an elf? Doesn't seem like an easy mistake to make."

"I don't know. The elf ran for it. Police aren't too popular in the Alienage."

"I can't imagine why."

"Trip, I'm aware of the problems within the system. But that's not why I'm here. I read them their rights and brought them in, while they swore that they'd have my badge."

"Which they didn't."

"No. But when I started my shift today, they were gone."

"Gone?"

"No bail, no paperwork. No jailbreak either. I mentioned it to the captain," her face darkened, "and he suggested I get him some coffee."

"So you think there's something in this? We haven't got a lot to go on."

"I've got names Trip." The corner of her mouth quirked, "I know that's all you'll need."

I grabbed my hat, "Let's see what we can find. This sounds like it could be fun."

Aveline's presence sometimes made things more difficult, but in this case I was glad to have her along. We went to Darktown, and sought out bad people; but not quite bad enough to openly attack a cop. By noon, we had two bits of information; the men worked for a family called Winter, who were acting like they were expecting a big windfall, and we weren't the only ones asking questions.

A Qunari had been to Darktown before us.

Back out in the sunlight, Aveline and I conferred.

"This is getting more and more solid, Trip."

"Something's going on for sure. But what? If this really does go to the top, sticking our nose in could see it cut off. And this Qunari thing. I don't feel qualified."

"Huh, can you think of anyone who is?"

As a matter of fact I could, although I didn't really want to.

"Who's been fighting the Qunari for years? The Tevinter Imperium. I know someone who might be able to help. He's in Hightown, apparently."

* * *

><p>"Trip! This is a crime scene!" The front of the mansion was gutted, and police lines were still in place across the charred and gaping entranceway.<p>

"I think it's nuts too. But he said he was going to be here."

"Who exactly are we going to see?" Aveline asked, reluctantly ducking under the tape.

"To be honest, I don't exactly know. Hello? Fenris?" The walls of the mansion were mostly intact, and we walked through into the living room, which was the source of the fire. The ceiling had been burned away, exposing charred crossbeams. Everything still reeked of smoke. It didn't look like the fire had spread too far upstairs, however, and I figured if Fenris really was here that's where he'd be.

Aveline followed me up the staircase with a dubious expression.

We were halfway up when Fenris swept out of a doorway at the top of the stairs, glaring at us over the sights of a pistol. I felt Aveline go for her gun and I held my hands up.

"Whoa, calm down. Fenris, this is Aveline. She's a friend but today she's a client as well. She's not here to arrest you for squatting in a crime scene."

"Although I should," Aveline said pointedly, relaxing as Fenris lowered his gun.

"I wasn't sure you'd want my help in the end," Fenris said, standing aside as we walked past.

"Well, we do. You worked for Tevinter, right? You must have come in contact with Qunari."

A faint smile. "Indeed I did."

The upper floor of the house looked much like it had when I was last here. I wondered if the elf had any personal possessions at all. I leant against the wall while Aveline explained what was going on.

"The Qunari do not do things the way others do," Fenris said at last. "If we want to find out what they know, the simplest way is to ask them."

"Isn't that likely to get us killed?" I asked.

"Only if the Qun demands it."

"Let's leave that as an option for now," Aveline said. "We need to find that elf. Even if he doesn't know anything, he can tell us what the Winter family wanted."

"I agree," I said. "But Aveline, unless you change into plainclothes, we're not gonna find him. Elves don't talk to cops."

"I know, I know. You can handle it, but call me if you find anything, understand? I have to get back to work anyway."

"You're the boss." I glanced at Fenris, "So are you interested? In helping, I mean."

"I'll come with you. I said I would, and it's not like I'm doing much else."

Aveline split with us and went back to the station while Fenris and I took a cable-car back down to Lowtown. He did offer to steal us a motor, but I decided against it.

"So, why are you living in that place anyway?"

"Where else would you have me live? The Alienage?"

"I wouldn't wish that on anyone, although Merrill seems happy enough. It's just safer for an elf to live there."

"Who am I in danger from?" he asked with mixed amusement and annoyance. Fair point, I supposed. "I have to stay in the mansion in case Denarius comes back for it."

"It's half burned down. Why would he want it?"

"Why does it matter so much to you where I live? I spent my entire life at someone else's whim. No longer."

"Okay, I get it. You're free to live in a dump. I'd have picked the Ritz, but I guess it takes all sorts."

To be honest, I could sort of see his point. The Alienage was only a few blocks from my house, but it hardly got any sun and the mud never seemed to dry. Dirty-faced children scattered as we strolled down the slope. Fenris got more attention than I did; you just didn't see an elf in a suit like that very often. He looked uncomfortable under such close scrutiny.

"Here we go." I put on my most winning smile and approached one of the street stalls.

We talked to paperboys and street-sweepers, but an elf being beaten up by a couple of humans wasn't news. It was early evening and we were still chasing up dead ends. The streets were now full of workers returning from other parts of the city. The smell of elvish cooking filled the air and I was wondering if it was time to call it a day and see what Ma was preparing and whether Fenris would accept an invitation to try it.

And then I saw the Qunari. Among elves he couldn't hide; he was at least a head and shoulders above the rest of the crowd. I nudged Fenris with my elbow and he scowled.

"Don't do that."

"Next time I'll send a letter. Come on, and remember; don't kill anyone unless you have to."

"I've never killed anyone I didn't have to," Fenris pointed out. I decided now was not the time for a debate. We were already slipping through the crowd like barracuda through a shoal of herring. Or shark was easy to follow.

Fenris was good. Better than Carver, which makes sense; Tevinter had trained him well, and the Qunari didn't suspect a thing as we tailed him half a block behind. He disappeared down a flight of stairs between a pair of mouldering apartment blocks. When we caught up with him, he was out of sight.

"He's here somewhere."

We walked down until we heard shots from somewhere in the bowels of the apartment building. That got us moving and our footsteps echoed down the bare stairwell. Fenris drew his gun as we darted through an open doorway. The hallway was full of elves poking their heads out of their apartments to see what the fuss was about. They poked them back in real fast when we came barrelling past.

I love trouble. Even better, I love _being_ trouble.

We paused, listening. Sounded like an argument.

"Shoot first and then ask questions?" I asked Fenris.

"Qunari don't ask questions."

"Sounds like they're underneath us somewhere. Look for more stairs. I'll go left."

Fenris nodded and we split up. At the end of the corridor I shoved aside a couple of old guys having an argument and found the fire escape. There was a basement floor here after all. I took the whole flight in one leap and applied a bit of magic through the palm of my hand to break the lock on the door at the base. I eased the door open. I could hear someone crying - probably not a Qunari - and the shuffling of feet. The basement was full of junk. In the middle of the room under a single bulb an elf was tied to a chair. He looked worse for wear but was still conscious enough to cry.

"Come on out, you fucking cow-man," someone snarled. Seriously? Cow-man? I've heard better insults from my dog. I kept my head down, and edged into the basement. I heard a door click somewhere. Fenris.

I hoped, anyway.

I jumped when what sounded like a shotgun went off to my right. I flung myself flat and watched the muzzle flashes as the fire was returned. The elf finally did something smart, tipping the chair he was tied to over and out of the firing line. Or he'd been shot.

I jumped when Fenris materialised out of the darkness beside me. He held up one finger, then five. One Qunari, five guys. I pointed to where they'd last been firing from.

Fenris nodded.

I pinched the air, not hard.

The bulb exploded with an audible pop, and we attacked. I went left, and Fenris went right as muzzle flashes strobed the basement. Ignoring the heat of the barrel I grabbed a gun and twisted it out of its owner's hand before belting him across the mouth with it. Fenris's markings flared and I caught a glimpse of him casually pulverising a guy's face with the back of his fist. I didn't hear the shotgun. The Qunari was holding his fire.

My knuckles stung as my punch was blocked by what was probably a gun but felt like a cheese-grater. I put some extra kick into my next attack and the guy sailed back against the wall.

I'd say it took us about fifteen seconds to put all of them down. We made a hell of a team.

A match flared, and Fenris was at my back, his pistol drawn on the source. I could sense the faint buzz of lyrium even through the back of his jacket and the back of mine.

The Qunari got to his feet, sawn-off in the crook of his arm as he lit a cigar. Fenris reholstered his gun inside his jacket.

"What in the world is going on here?" I asked.

"If you didn't know, why did you interfere?" the Qunari asked, his voice like gravel.

"The elf looked like he could use some help. You alive, buddy?" I heard an answering groan. Good enough.

"If you had found the light switch rather than breaking the bulb, this would be easier," Fenris pointed out. I scowled at him but it was probably too dark for him to appreciate it.

I hauled the elf's chair back on its feet, the elf along with it. While I was working on untying him Fenris started conversing with the Qunari in their own language.

"What did you say?" I asked.

"I merely granted respect."

"You travel with interesting companions," the Qunari said.

"No kidding. So what are you doing here?"

"The Qun protects its own."

I glanced at the elf, "Him?" The Qunari nodded in the gloom.

"Ugh…thank you." The elf wiped his blood from his face. He was sporting two back eyes and a lot of bruises, but I figured he'd recover.

"What did those guys want with you? They were working for the Winter family, weren't they?"

"We could wake one up and make them talk," Fenris suggested.

"I'd rather do this the easy way."

The elf looked to the Qunari, "Should I answer?"

"My task here is done."

The elf shrugged, "They wanted to know where Saemus Dumar is. I didn't know. They were going to keep beating me until I did."

"Dumar, Dumar…that name sounds familiar." I examined my bleeding knuckles as I thought. "Mayor Dumar. There's our connection with the top. Saemus must be a relative." I glanced at the Qunari, "Does this mean anything to you?"

"Saemus is known to us. He has talked long with the Ashaad. They talk still."

"What's an Ashaad?"

Fenris answered me, "They gather information."

"It looks like Winter has been hired to bring him in. Does this bother you?" I asked the Qunari.

"No. My task here is done." And with that he returned his shotgun to his coat and walked out, trailing cigar smoke. I scratched my head. I couldn't make head or tail of him.

"Are they always like that, Fenris?"

"Yes."

I helped the elf to his feet. "Unless they want to send an army, you're probably safe from the Winters for now. I'd lay low for a while though."

"Yes, thank you."

"Hey, are you really following this 'Qun'?" I asked.

"They gave me an answer to questions I didn't even know I was asking," the elf said. He thanked us again and hobbled out. I shrugged and followed. By the time we were on the street again, there was no sign of him.

"The Qun offers certainty," Fenris said, although I hadn't asked, as we strolled back towards Lowtown proper. "No one else offers them anything."

"You know a lot about it, were you ever tempted?"

"No. When I served Denarius, certainty was all I had. I didn't need the Qun to know what my purpose was. I was a pet, a weapon, and a possession to be displayed, nothing more."

He was doing that lip-curling thing again. "Well, you're not any more. Move on," I gestured, "freedom awaits."

His look was icy. "You understand nothing."

That pissed me off. "And we were having so much fun, too." I didn't appreciate being talked to like that; I wasn't without sympathy for Fenris, but he wasn't the only fella in the universe who'd had a hard time of it. For all his talk of slavery, Fenris had pride; you could practically see it rolling off him, and that made it just too easy needle him a bit. "You're not bad with your fists, for an amateur."

That got his attention. He turned his gaze on me, eyebrows raised. "How do you figure _I'm_ the amateur?"

"You learned to fight for your job. I fight for my freedom and my life, every time. Which do you think has greater room for making mistakes?"

"I fought for my freedom too."

"Since you were six? The way I hear it, you spent most of your time fighting for your masters."

He leaned towards me, teeth bared and I'm quite sure he would have thrown a punch if we hadn't been in public. "You're good, Trip. But you're not that good. I'd put you down in a heartbeat, with or without your precious magic."

He got in my face, so I got right back in his, "I'd be more than happy to settle this sometime. But right now, we need to talk to Aveline. Our little problem just got big."

Shit. Why did I let him get to me like that?


	8. Foundry Workers Threaten Strike

The streetlights were on when we arrived back in Hightown. The courthouse, precinct and city hall were all in the same area and I glanced up at the stately columns that fronted the latter as we disembarked from the cable-car. Fenris and I had reached some unspoken agreement to beat the tar out of each other sometime in the future, and the ride back up had been peaceful.

I was looking forward to it, but I wasn't going to think too hard about why exactly.

We swept up the steps of the police station. Even at this late hour the place was crowded; cops in uniform hauling in swearing drunks, a woman in tears talking to the clerk, and cops everywhere. I put my hands in my pockets and strolled on past the lot of them like I had every right to do so.

"Hey!" I heard the clerk call to me, and I casually waved my fake Fereldan licence in his general direction.

Fenris looked mildly impressed as we walked through into the station proper without being accosted. I approached one of the desks.

"Aveline?" I asked the cop collecting his coat and hat behind it. He pointed, and hurried out.

Aveline was sitting at her desk, glaring up at a woman snarling at her. The latter obviously wasn't a cop; she was wearing a fur stole over an expensive looking red dress, and her hair was done up all fancy like. She might have been a looker if she'd smiled at some point in the last ten years.

"I will not have a rookie cop getting in my way. If you know what's good for you, you'll stay behind that desk. We're doing a public service, and some important people won't like it if you stick your nose in. You are nobody here. Don't forget it."

With that she turned on her heel and pushed past without even looking at us.

Aveline stood up, her hands flat on her desk and her expression murderous. "Some people," she ground out. She turned her gaze on me, "Please tell me you've got something."

I grinned, "Oh, I have."

After I'd told her what we'd discovered, Aveline sank down behind her desk and took a deep breath, "Seamus Dumar is Mayor Dumar's son."

"So they're telling the truth. The mayor did authorise them to track him down."

"Bad luck for anyone who gets in their way," Fenris said.

"If Seamus is missing, it should have been a job for us," Aveline said.

"If he even is missing. The Qunari seemed to know where he was, and didn't care too much about it or who knew."

"So he went voluntarily? The Winters splashing in there with both feet are going to make things a hell of a lot worse whatever the truth of the matter. The Winters are criminals of the worst kind," Aveline said. "I'll give the mayor's office the benefit of the doubt on this one, but people like that must be stopped. Once they get a bit of power, Dumas is going to regret he ever heard of them. They haven't even found Seamus yet and they're marching in here like they own the place. Maybe the Captain doesn't care, but dammit, I do."

"What do you want us to do, Aveline?" I asked.

"We find the boy first."

"We're going to need help."

Aveline motioned to her phone, "Knock yourself out. I don't think I trust anyone here after the display utter incompetence I've seen today; they just let the both of you walk in here without so much as asking your names."

I couldn't get hold of Carver; he was still out, according to Gamlen. Merrill drove Anders and Varric up from Lowtown, and we all met outside the station.

"And you all work for free?" Fenris asked, as I introduced him to Anders.

"What can I say, Trip just has that kind of face," Varric said.

"You're here, aren't you?" Merrill pointed out. Fenris frowned.

"Okay, enough. Aveline is requisitioning a car. We'll go look for the boy; you keep an eye on the Winters. Here, their last known address from the police files."

"Nice. And what if they've already done something stupid?"

"Then we meet in the middle and shoot it out," I grinned.

"But you don't carry a gun, Trip," Merrill said.

I told her I'd improvise.

Merrill and the others headed for the Winter's base in Lowtown while Aveline, Fenris and I headed for that half-assed would-be embassy the Qunari have set up in Hightown.

"I ain't never been in a police car before," I said.

"Trip, take your feet off the dash. Were you raised in a barn?" Aveline drove pretty well, but way too slowly for my liking.

"As a matter of fact, I was. Or close enough to."

The Qunari embassy was quiet. They had a couple fellas in suits on the doors.

Aveline took a deep breath and approached them. They ignored her. Instead they addressed Fenris and I, "You may enter."

Aveline looked irritated but was far too practical to argue.

I wasn't sure what I expected from the Qunari embassy. What I found was a large, quiet house, full of Qunari doing paperwork and talking among themselves. They ignored us so thoroughly it was unnerving. One of the suits ushered us through to a back room, empty save for a single throne.

All the other Qunari were dressed like the rest of us, in suits and ties, although they didn't try to fit hats around their horns. This one was not. He was dressed in what I can only assume was traditional costume; a leather skirt thing over pants and bare-chested. Somehow, I felt underdressed for the occasion. His eyes gleamed with a kind of veiled fire and he carried the weight of authority.

"The Arishok," Fenris murmured in my ear, his breath ghosting across my cheek. "Be careful."

Aveline saluted and I took my hat off. Fenris inclined his head and said something in Qunari.

"You interfered in Lowtown," the Arishok said without inflection.

"With the best intentions. I'm here to find Saemus Dumar and I'm not the only one looking for him. These people are not nice, they nearly killed one of your elven followers and they won't hesitate to kill more. Your subordinate mentioned that Seamus was with this Ashaad. He's in danger too."

I had no idea if my words were getting through. The Arishok got to his feet and walked towards us. I met his gaze, but couldn't read it.

"Saemus is not here," he said eventually. "He left with the Ashaad this morning."

"Where were they going?"

"The Ashaad seeks answers for the Qun. They went to the library."

I blinked. "The public library?" _This_ was how they gathered information? "Thank you, Arishok," I said quickly. Fenris had been right; just step right up and ask. "We'll try and return your Ashaad too."

Aveline raised her eyebrows at me. I shrugged. I only said I'd try.

"You do as you wish," the Arishok said, turning away. "That is all you know how to do."

We hurried out of the Qunari embassy and I soon revised my opinion of Aveline's driving. She still drove well, but this time the needle was pushing red the whole way. She wasn't afraid to lean on the horn – or lean out the window and yell – when others got in her way.

"Why are we in such a hurry?" I asked.

"A Qunari in the public library all day is going to draw some attention. The Winters will find out soon enough, if they haven't already. We need to assume they have people everywhere, not just in Lowtown."

"We were chasing each other around Lowtown all day and they were here all along. I can't believe it."

"If they'd asked us," Aveline said through her teeth, "we would have found them by noon, had a quiet word, and none of this would have happened. But no, they had to do things the hard way." I hung on to my hat as we tore around a corner.

I heard the insistent sound of a horn – above the one Aveline was leaning on – and I spotted Merrill and the others in traffic, just a bit behind us.

"There's Varric, slow down."

Aveline obliged and Merrill drew even with us.

"A bunch went in and out," Varric raised his voice to shout to us. "Then three cars came out at once. Bianca got one." He looked absolutely delighted.

"They're heading for the library," I called back as Merrill pulled in behind us.

The library was a couple blocks from the Chantry in Hightown. By the time we arrived, people were scattering, and two cars were parked out the front. We'd been too slow. We alighted and Aveline looked us over.

"Consider yourselves all deputised," she said. "You can arrest people, but not search them. And don't kill anyone." She checked her gun.

"Do we get badges?" Merrill asked excitedly. Aveline shook her head.

I grinned.

Aveline led us into the library, and an odder group of deputised citizens there never was. An elven library worker cowering behind a desk took one look at Aveline's uniform and pointed down the hall, "They went that way! They had guns."

Aveline nodded. "How many civilians?" she asked.

"It's nearly closing time, but there's always a few who stay until we throw them out."

"We're looking for a Qunari-"

A single gunshot interrupted me.

We started running. The collection was housed in a massive circular room, long shelves of books twelve feet high interspersed with desks.

"This is the police!" Aveline shouted, her voice echoing around the room.

A man charged out from between the shelves, gun in hand. Varric put a bullet through his leg and he tumbled, dropping his weapon.

"Drop your weapons or the boy gets it!" a female voice snarled.

"Saemus is a hostage," I muttered.

"You and me, Trip," Aveline said quietly. "The rest of you, spread out."

I nodded. I held my hands out, and we walked down between the shelves, while the others hurried off.

The woman I had seen in front of Aveline's desk was standing at the back of the room, among several desks with lamps on them. She had a bunch of fellas holding guns as backup, and they pointed them casually at us. A Qunari was slumped over a book, blood pooling from a hole in his head, and a young, well-dressed guy was sitting next to him and staring at him in shock, his eyes huge and full of tears. He barely seemed to notice the fact that the woman held a gun to his head.

"If it isn't the rookie," the woman grated. "I thought it'd be you. You just can't keep your nose out of other peoples' business can you?"

"Murder is my business," Aveline said evenly. "As is assault, firing weapons in a public place, kidnapping-"

"Enough!" She swung her gun up to point at Aveline, and I tensed.

"When I get this boy back to his father, the Winters will be owed. Big time. Maybe even enough to excuse the accidental death of a rookie cop."

"What does Saemus have to say about this?" I asked. I didn't flinch under the woman's cold gaze, or the barrel of her gun.

"He was my friend," Saemus said shakily. "You killed him."

"What's one less goat? If your father doesn't cough up, I bet the papers would just love to know his son is a Qunari lover. Do wonders for his re-election chances."

"I'm not going anywhere with you," he looked up at her with a horrified expression.

She backhanded him across the face with the gun, and then let out a kind of squawk as Aveline coolly raised her own and fired. Blood bloomed across the woman's shoulder as she staggered back. Aveline and I ducked. Chunks of splintered wood flew from the heavy desks as Varric opened up. Suppressing fire. The other Winter thugs were ducking for cover now too.

I could hear magic crackling from among the shelves and Merrill's "Ha! Got you!" from somewhere nearby.

The woman was trying to aim her gun with her left hand, and Aveline rose like an avenging angel and punched her. Aveline has a right hook like the fist of the Maker Himself and the woman was flung backwards across a desk. The gun flew from her hand and clattered against a shelf. I scrambled up and shoved Saemus down under the desk.

"Keep your head down," I muttered, and he complied, sliding off his chair and huddling under the desk. I didn't want any more witnesses than necessary.

I flung myself at the thugs before they recovered from Bianca's barrage, Aveline right beside me. One threw a punch that hit her square on the jaw. Her head rocked back and then she smiled.

"My turn."

"You are my rock," I said sweetly to her as she broke his nose. Aveline snorted.

"There's more coming!" Varric hurried out from between the shelves, Bianca smoking in his hands.

"Where the hell are the cops?" Aveline snarled.

"Maybe the Winters told them to keep out of it."

"The police force should not at the beck and call of the Winters. Or the Mayor. We answer to the law." I could see a muscle jumping in Aveline's neck.

"We can fight city hall later."

"Are they gone?" Saemus poked his head up.

"No, dammit! Get back down!"

Bullets zipped down between the shelves and we ducked instinctively, even as I watched them slow and eventually fall to the ground. I lifted my hands, staring at the smoky glow that enveloped us. I glanced off to the side to see Anders, his glasses glittering as he smirked at us from between the shelves.

"Nice one, Blondie," Varric grinned. "I. Am. Invincible!" He cocked Bianca and a handful of empty shell-casings dropped on the worn carpet.

"Varric!" Anders called urgently, "No you ain't!"

It took longer than expected to find Merrill's parasol once we'd dealt with the rest of the Winter's men. The ambulances arrived before the cops did, but soon the place was swarming with uniforms. Aveline gave herself the satisfaction of hauling the Winter woman to her feet and loudly arresting her for the murder of the Ashaad.

A couple of uniform hauled the woman off, and Aveline lowered her voice, "I don't know if it'll stick. The Qunari's not a citizen, and juries don't like them anyway. A half-decent lawyer will spin enough of a self-defence argument to justify reasonable doubt, and I doubt Dumar is going to let Saemus take the stand." She smiled grimly, "But for now, she can rot in a cell once they've patched her up."

Anders was looking extremely nervous around all the police. Given his tirades about the violence inherent in the system I guess he thought he had reason to be. Saemus was bundled off but not before he shook my hand and promised I'd be rewarded.

"And not a single casualty," Aveline addressed us proudly.

Merrill put her finger thoughtfully to her lips and stared at Fenris with wide eyes, "Maybe he's not a very good assassin then."

"Shut up, witch," he growled.

"That is a gendered insult!"

"Enough!" Aveline stopped them arguing. For now at least. "I'm authorised to pay you all a small stipend for your services rendered today."

I liked the sound of that. "Drinks at the Hanged Man tonight; on city hall!"

Varric whooped and Merrill shushed him, "This is a library," she explained. "You have to be quiet. It says on the sign."

"You," I pointed at Fenris, "are coming with us."

"I see I have little choice," he said. But I thought I detected a smile.


	9. Chantry Service for Slain Templars

"Why are you here, if you're just going to sit in the corner and scowl?"

"I haven't see anything but complaints from you, either."

This hadn't been one of my greatest ideas. Fired up with victory and the prospect of city gold – which turned out to be silver, but what are ya gonna do? – I'd proposed this little outing without thinking too hard about it, which is why we were currently all sitting at our usual table in the Hanged Man while Anders and Fenris sniped at each other.

I figured they wouldn't get along, but they could at least act like their mothers taught them some manners. Although I suppose neither of them remembered their mothers. This might explain a lot, I thought.

Ma didn't really like us going to the Hanged Man, but that didn't stop us. The Hanged Man was a five-story hotel in the middle of Lowtown, long past its glory days. It might even have been built during the days of the Imperium, who knows? Whoever owned the place paid both the mob and the cops to keep their distance, and for the most part only lip service was paid to the law. The place reeked of booze most of the time, and they tossed out the drunks once they started getting rowdy without even trying to hide them. The band was hot and the serving girls were mostly off-limits.

The private rooms were for parties only, not to let, but Varric managed to live there somehow anyway. I asked him how he could stand it once and he said he'd sleep when he was dead. The reality was he slept behind the desk at his bookshop.

Aveline and I were nursing our drinks while Anders was on his second and Merril on her fourth; she could put it away like water. Varric was flirting with one of the serving girls; he knew them all by name.

"So you spend your life treated like a slave, and then you turn right around and would inflict that on innocent people?"

"Innocent people who are capable of terrible things if they let their guard down for a moment. Innocent people who attract demons."

"That's no excuse. So they should just drown us at birth? They should have killed me? And Trip?"

I raised my eyebrows at Fenris, and he gazed at me thoughtfully. I held his gaze, although those eyes tended to make me forget what I was about to say next.

"I didn't say that," Fenris said eventually. "But mages need to be controlled."

"I am controlled," I said mildly.

"Why did you even invite him?" Anders asked. "He's just going to turn us all in to the Templars."

"He gave his word that he wouldn't," I said shortly. "Look, Fenris has every reason to dislike us. I simply refuse to prove him right." Oh, if it were that simple. I was getting tired of this.

"Merrill," I extended my hand, "would you care to dance?" The band had upped the tempo slightly, and I was bound and determined to enjoy at least some of my evening.

"I'd love to," she said gaily. Merrill hadn't a clue how to dance when we'd first started going to the Hanged Man, but she was completely unselfconscious and picked it up fast. I'd refused to be embarrassed by her flailing and now we could turn heads in admiration rather than exasperation once we got out on the dance floor.

Although she did insist on leading exactly half the time, which remained awkward as she was a good six inches shorter than me, but I accepted her quirks with good humour. Aveline wasn't the dancing type, and I really couldn't afford a girlfriend. Recently I wasn't even sure I wanted one any more and _that_ was keeping me up nights.

The singer snapped her fingers and swung her hips and Merrill's eyes sparkled as we elbowed ourselves some room.

All went well for two songs and then I noticed Merrill kept craning her head to look around at the crowd.

"What are you doing?" I asked.

"Come on, Trip, where is she?"

"Where is who?"

"You've been dancing awfully flash all evening." She grinned up at me, "You're showing off for someone."

"How do you know it's not you?"

She laughed. I glanced over my shoulder, but Fenris was talking to Varric.

I was going to suggest returning to our table when the dance was interrupted by shouts of alarm near the front doors and a volley of deep, familiar barking.

"What the-?" The band kept playing but the dancers scattered as Horse, ignoring all shouting and attempts to grab him, bounded through the crowd and pawed the floor at my feet.

"Is this dog yours?" one of the bouncers asked, as my friends wandered over to see what the drama was about.

I folded my arms, "He won't be if he doesn't have a good explanation for all of this." Horse whimpered and hung his head before barking fiercely and growling. "He's trying to tell us something."

"Trip, he's a dog," Anders pointed out.

"He's a mabari," was my response. "I figured he was with Carver today. He took him when they went out this morning."

At the mention of my brother's name, Horse barked urgently.

"I think you're onto something, Trip," Aveline said. "Is Carver in trouble, boy?" Horse barked again, and turned in an excited circle.

"I can't leave him alone for two minutes without something going wrong," I said. "That's good enough for me; I'm gonna go find the sap."

"We're with you," Aveline said. No one disagreed.

* * *

><p>We gathered our hats and coats and hurried out of the Hanged Man, Varric muttering soothingly to the staff who were less than impressed by Horse's sudden appearance.<p>

"I dunno what they're so upset about," Varric chuckled. "If Horse is the worst visitor they've had this week I'll eat my boots."

"Most of them buy a drink before getting thrown out though," I pointed out.

With Horse leading us we couldn't take Merrill's fivver even if we would have fitted into it. Horse bounded ahead of us and we gave chase, ignoring the odd looks we received.

"Never a dull moment with you, is it?" Fenris commented calmly as we swung down an alleyway. I grinned, but it was a formality; I was worried about Carver.

"What was he doing, anyway?" Varric asked.

"Missing person," I explained, getting rather breathless. "The Mother wasn't telling us everything, but she was really worried for the boy."

Our client lived in the Alienage, but we were soon taking a turn further down towards Darktown. Carver shouldn't have gone here on an investigation alone, but if I was honest, I'd have done the same – especially with Horse at my side.

Darktown abutted the docks, and if you could stand the smell, there was actually direct access to the water. It had been a favourite route for smugglers of all kinds since Kirkwall was founded. We found ourselves hurrying along rotting piers and avoiding groups of tough looking young men just loitering. I was confident we could have handled almost anything here, but fighting would just slow us down.

I could hear the dark water lapping somewhere beneath our feet. Horse had his nose to the ground, and I held my breath every time he paused and cast about for the trail. If Carver was here somewhere, there was no way we'd ever find him without Horse's nose.

Horse eventually took us to a warehouse that fronted the water, and growled low in his throat.

"Have we got a plan?" Aveline asked.

"We bust in and ask for Carver. And the kid too, if they've got him. And if they don't hand them over, we beat them up."

"Simple and effective," Varric said. "Bianca approves."

"This place is creepy," Merrill said, "and it smells awful. What do you suppose they put in the water to make it smell like that?"

"Daisy, you don't wanna know."

I put my hand to the door and it swung open. I raised my eyebrows at the lack of security; I couldn't help but think it was deliberate. I couldn't hear anything, and we slipped in at least trying to remain silent. It was almost completely dark inside the warehouse. I closed my eyes and opened them a few times, trying to get some kind of dark vision, and eventually I saw a faint light coming from somewhere inside. The place creaked and groaned under our footsteps like a sailing ship. The timber of the walls and floor smelled of damp and salt; it was a wonder it was still standing.

We hurried through some deserted offices, only a few sticks of furniture remaining. Smelled like piss, too. What was Carver doing here?

The source of the light was the warehouse proper. Electricity wasn't on, but someone had hung some hurricane lanterns from the supporting columns. There wasn't any cargo here so we had a clear view across the room and right down to the steps leading to a pier. There was a rowing boat tied to a post; there was a channel that let the sea right through the building so no wonder the place was damp.

Standing waiting for us was a group of men, most of them dressed like dockworkers. Among them was a tall man with a moustache and a furred cap. As soon as we saw him, Fenris bared his teeth.

"A Magister," he growled. "Your brother has uncovered a Tevinter operation."

In front of the group, on his knees with his hands behind his back was Carver. At least he was alive.

I realised I could see nothing above us. The ceiling was dark, and I could only just barely see a walkway that encircled the room, one floor above us. Perfect for an ambush.

"How long will your shield hold, Anders?" I asked quietly.

He shot me a dubious look. "For all of us? Five seconds at best."

"Better make 'em count."

The Magister had obviously spotted us, and we had nothing to gain by waiting.

"It seems you weren't lying about a rescue effort," the Magister said, obviously addressing Carver. "Let's see if he really is a mage as you say."

"You told him about me?" I glared at Carver.

"I was trying to scare him into letting me go," Carver said, a bit sheepishly.

"Well it obviously didn't work, did it?" I stepped forward, "So, are you going to let my brother go or do I have to make you?"

"Perhaps there is another way," the Magister said, "You see, I will be returning to Tevinter tonight. You have heard of the Imperium, no doubt. Mages are welcome there; you would be too. You would be free."

"I've more than heard of Tevinter and their practices. Tell me, is this 'opportunity' one we will be allowed to refuse?"

"Well, not if you want to live."

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Anders brace himself. And then the warehouse erupted in a hail of gunfire, Bianca chattering on my left, Aveline and Fenris firing their weapons on my right, aiming at the unseen marksmen behind the muzzle flashes on the walkway above us.

Horse bounded forward, teeth bared, and leaped on the Magister, knocking him to the ground as Merrill and I turned our attention on the dockworkers. They didn't have guns. Unlucky for them. One swung a length of chain at Merrill and she ducked out of the way, grabbed the end and electrified it. I waded in, fists swinging; I knocked one of them back and he landed in the water with splash. I heard a clatter and I glanced over my shoulder to see Anders hit the floor, and the shield faded.

The guns fell silent. The dockworkers realised they were outnumbered and outgunned and started beating a retreat. Horse had his jaws around the Magister's neck, and he growled fiercely as the man tried to prise him off. The Magister wasn't game to use magic as all Horse had to do was bite down and he'd lose his neck.

"He knows where the kid is," Carver said as Varric started cutting his bonds. Aveline knelt beside Anders and the mage groaned, cradling his head in his hands. It didn't look like anything a shot of lyrium or a good night's sleep wouldn't cure.

I stood over the Magister and looked down at him "Are you going to talk?" I asked.

"Like hell," he gritted out.

I looked at Fenris. "I think I'll leave him to you."

Fenris spared me a brief smile before kneeling down beside the Magister and punching his fist through his chest, almost casually. I saw absolutely no expression on his face. The others fell silent as Fenris's tattoos flared blue. The Magister convulsed and coughed.

"He's gone. To Tevinter. He's already on the boat," the Magister said, now motivated.

Fenris looked up at me.

"The fact that you're still here makes me think the boat is too. Probably at anchor somewhere in the bay. And you've provided a boat for us, which was very helpful."

Fenris withdrew his hand, "What do we do with him?"

"He comes with us. We're gonna need him to find the boat. And if he doesn't co-operate, you can do that thing again." I really hoped he co-operated.

"I'm coming with you," Carver said, getting to his feet and patting Horse.

"I'm not," Anders said, as Aveline helped him to his feet.

"We can't all fit in the boat anyway," I said. "Carver, you're rowing, since you sat out the last firefight."

"I can't believe you brought everyone along to rescue me," Carver said and for once he had a smile on his face. "Thanks. All of you."

"Oh, it was just a coincidence really," Merrill said unhelpfully. "We were all at the Hanged Man when Horse found us. Oh, can I come too? I've never been in a boat before. It sounds exciting."

"Okay, but that is absolutely the last passenger. It's gonna be a squeeze as it is."

"We'll make sure Anders gets back safely. And Horse too," Aveline said. "Good luck."


	10. Extra: Shots Fired at Hightown Library

We rowed out of the warehouse in Darktown and slowly made our way across the bay. Merrill had appropriated the Magister's fur hat and she looked absolutely adorable in it as she perched in the prow, staring at everything while Carver laboured inexpertly over the oars. The Magister was in the bottom of the boat, hunched over with Fenris's foot on the back of his head; the fight had gone out of him and he just clutched his chest and whimpered. Occasionally Fenris would pull his head up to get directions.

We shared the water with pleasure vessels, their lights dancing reflected on the water and jazz drifting across the bay. A big liner, like the one we'd arrived on all those years ago, was slowly pulling out to sea and dozens of smaller vessels rocked on the tide, dark and silent this late at night.

I tried to get comfortable, leaning against the side of the boat, sitting next to Fenris and smoking. From here I could see the entire city as it rose up, following the lines of the mountain it was built on. The foundry district pumped smoke and red light into the sky, while Hightown was still awash with light this late at night. I grinned.

"Isn't that beautiful?" Fenris and Carver followed my gaze. Carver didn't have the breath to spare to comment.

"You like it here that much?" Fenris asked.

"You bet I do. I reckon you picked the best damn city in the world to be free in." I was ignoring the dark, ominous bulk of the Gallows across the bay, and a great deal else besides. But that didn't matter. You fall for a city like you fall for a girl; her flaws only make her eyes shine that much brighter, make her good moods that much more dizzying, and make the heat in your chest that much more overwhelming.

"You're a very strange mage," Fenris said. He was looking at the Gallows.

I sighed, "You don't have an ounce of romance in you, Fenris."

"I'm in a boat with a Tevinter Magister, a Dalish witch and your brother. Does that really sound like an occasion for romance to you and not a bad joke?"

Bad or not I laughed, although partly from sheer surprise. Fenris looked a bit startled himself and kicked the Magister in the back of the head. To reassert his bad temper, I suppose.

The Magister directed us to a small boat anchored a little way offshore. It looked like an ordinary fishing vessel to me, which I guess was the point.

"We should dump him overboard," Fenris suggested, glaring at the Magister.

"No. There's an innocent boy on that boat and if getting him back to his family means handing over this cretin I will."

"I take your point," he conceded with some reluctance.

I cupped my hands around my mouth and hailed the silent vessel. I could see a few lights inside, and someone carried one outside, playing the lantern over our boat.

"Who are you?"

"We're looking for someone named Feynriel. We have reason to believe you've got him."

"Never heard of him, so beat it."

I glanced at Fenris and he grabbed a shock of the Magister's hair and yanked his head up.

"Stop! Wait!" our prisoner called shakily.

The man on the boat lifted his lantern higher and I could see other figures moving about.

"If you want your Magister back, you'll hand him over. Isn't that right?" I grinned.

"Yes! That's…an order," the Magister added.

"Good man."

There was some movement on the boat, and eventually a pale young man was dragged out onto the deck.

"Feynriel?" I called. "Your mother sent me. She's been worried sick. We're here to take you home."

"Home?" he asked a bit dazedly.

"You are him, right? I was expecting an elf."

"Nah, his father's human," Carver explained.

Carver guided our boat alongside the fishing vessel, and we awkwardly negotiated the swap, Feynriel descending down a rope ladder first. It was all a bit precarious; none of us were particularly good with boats.

The Magister started climbing back up the ladder while Feynrial crouched down near Merrill. I grabbed his ankle. "Not so fast."

I extended my hand and summoned enough magic to make it glow. "Any interference from your boat and I will capsize the lot of you, understood?" I let him go and tried to look intimidating. As much as one can when perched in an overcrowded rowboat. Maybe I was lucky it was dark.

I really hoped they didn't cause any trouble.

To my surprise, they didn't.

"They respect magic," Fenris said, in a tone that clearly indicated he didn't. "Whatever they wanted the boy for, he wasn't worth the fight. Are you sure you don't want to capsize them now we're a safe distance away?"

"I was bluffing, Fenris. I'm a mage, not a miracle worker."

"Are you really going to take me home?" Feynrial spoke up for the first time.

"Where else would we take you?" I asked.

He didn't answer me directly, wringing his hands and staring at the water like he was contemplating jumping in. "I don't want to go home," he said finally. "I ran away, you know."

"Well, I guessed as much. But I doubt you really intended to run as far as Tevinter."

"Why not? Mages are free there!"

"They were not kidnapping you with your best interests at heart," Fenris commented.

"Mother wanted to send me to the Circle. Said my nightmares were too much- I don't want to go. Don't make me go." He turned big, sad eyes in my direction.

Oh no.

I felt Fenris take a breath to speak and I jabbed him in the ribs with my elbow. I couldn't imagine he'd have anything helpful to say. I did not want to be on a boat with stressed and untrained young mage if Fenris was going to start giving his opinion.

"Why don't you want to go to the Circle?" I asked carefully. I could think of dozens of reasons, but the place must suit some folks enough that they'd stay there.

"What if they can't help with my nightmares? They'd make me tranquil, wouldn't they?"

I wasn't about to lie to the kid, "Yeah, they would."

"If you're a danger-"

"Stow it, Fenris."

"What about your mother?" Fenris continued regardless.

Feynrial just looked miserable, and hung his head.

"What about the Dalish?" Merrill piped up.

"What _about_ the Dalish?" I asked.

"Your mother is an elf, isn't she?" Merrill asked sympathetically. "The Dalish don't make their mages tranquil, and they might be able to help with your nightmares too."

"Really?" He looked fragile but hopeful, looking at us all in turn.

Finally, our boat butted against one of the piers and Carver shipped oars with a groan of relief. I figured he'd really be feeling that tomorrow.

"Well, if the Dalish would have him, and if he wants to go, I don't see why not," I said. "But first, you are going home to your mother, you understand? She scraped together twenty-five silver to hire us, so the least you can do is thank her in person."

Fenris pressed his lips together but said nothing as we disembarked. Merrill cheerfully took Feynrial by the hand, oblivious that he turned as red as a tomato as she did so, and promised to see him safely back to the Alienage.

"Well, I'd call that a good day's work," Carver said through gritted teeth, and obviously trying not to move his arms. "What were you up to all day anyway?"

"Oh, we rescued the Mayor's son from some Qunari – well, from some gangsters really, but he was with the Qunari. Check the papers tomorrow. It'll be there."

I grinned smugly as Carver gaped at me. Abruptly he shut his mouth with a snap and scowled, "Figures. Just, figures." He turned on his heel and stalked off.

"You're really just going to let him go off with the Dalish?"

I was half expecting Fenris would decide to argue about it. It irritated me that _I_ was the one who had to decide how far it would go. He'd push and I'd have to be patient and reasonable and not take his insults personally, despite the whole apostate thing being pretty damn personal.

"Yeah. I don't see why not. I'd be a hypocrite if I forced another mage into the Circle when I kill to stay out of it, wouldn't I?"

"He's a danger to himself and everyone around him."

I turned on him, tired of the relentless negativity, "As are you, Fenris. I saw you put a hand through a man's chest this evening and you didn't even flinch. You've been trained to feel nothing when you kill another person and yet you have the gall to stand there and tell me I should see an innocent kid locked up for something he didn't do?"

"And what if he wakes up from one of his nightmares and sets the house on fire, or kills his mother?"

"How many people have you killed, Fenris?" I asked icily. "Feynrial has harmed _no-one , _unlike you. I will not condemn him for a crime he has yet to commit, and the fact that you do makes you a Maker's-dammed hypocrite of the worst kind."

"The Magisters are at fault for the people I had to kill, and once again it was magic that bound me to their will. You think I had any choice in this matter, that I wanted all of this? Their fault. Magic's fault."

We were circling each other now, teeth bared and fists clenched.

"Feynrial doesn't have any choice either!"

"All it takes is one demon to get its claws in-"

"Demons? You want to talk of demons? Fenris, I have never seen a man in the thrall of so many demons as you."

His eyes widened in shock and narrowed again just as fast in anger. I think I hit a nerve. "You want to do this? Really? I suppose you think your magic would give you an edge."

"Yeah, yeah I do want to do this. And I wouldn't give you the satisfaction of using magic; I don't need to _glow_ to prove anything."

He darted towards me and I stepped out of the way just as fast. I flicked my gaze away from him briefly. "But not here," I added.

The docks weren't the busiest place at night, but the cops still patrolled, and I didn't want any interruptions. Even Fenris saw the sense of it.

* * *

><p>When we arrived back at Lowtown, the lights were on in Varric's shop. He'd been waiting for us to return, although he wouldn't have said so directly, and Carver was in there filling him in on what had happened.<p>

I wasn't even angry anymore. At least, not about Feynrial. He was incidental. I was angry at Fenris because no matter how much of a bull-headed, upstage son of a bitch he was, I couldn't get him out of my head. No matter how much hate he threw on mages, I just sucked it up and tried to reason him out of it. Hang reason. I'd beat him out of it, or he'd beat this appalling …_distraction_ out of me.

The bell above Varric's door rang as I pushed it open, Fenris at my heels.

"Hey Varric, we need to borrow your storeroom," I said.

"Sure, knock yourselves out." He looked at us curiously.

"We plan to."

Fenris and I cleared a space while Varric and Carver watched.

"Should I see if Anders is still awake?" Varric asked. He wouldn't have told us to stop, exactly, but I could tell he wasn't impressed.

"No," we chorused.

"He's going to wipe the floor with you, Trip," Carver said.

I told him to shut it as I divested myself of coat and shoes and shirt and belt. Across the room, Fenris did the same, and I stared at him. Sizing him up, you know? His markings stood out against his golden skin, curled down his throat, across his arms, branched down his chest and stomach and disappeared underneath his trousers. I'm no slouch but he was pure muscle, corded and tensed for battle; maybe Carver was right. And maybe I'd been wrong about this sorting things out rather than making them more tangled. Not that I was going to back down now.

"No magic," he said, rolling his shoulders and stepping into the centre of the room.

"No lyrium," I responded evenly.

"Queen's rules. No one needs to die here," Varric added firmly.

I nodded, although that put a lot of my favourite moves out of bounds. I bounced on my toes, adrenaline singing through my veins.

The first time Fenris landed a hit, it felt like I'd been smacked with a brick. We'd been ducking and dodging for a while, testing each other's defences, when he'd come out of nowhere and socked me across the ear. My head rang like a gong and I staggered back, trying to find my feet and raising my guard before he could follow up.

Note to self, don't get hit.

I got to return the favour a few moments later; he overreached himself trying to press his advantage, and I drove my fist into his midsection, hearing the air leave his lungs with a whoosh.

"Maybe we should sell tickets," Carver said idly from his seat on a crate of books.

Neither of us was going to be a one-hit knockout and we started wearing each other down. We traded blows to each other's arms and chest. My knuckles stang, and sweat was starting to trickle into my eyes. No matter how hard I hit him, Fenris refused to back down; and I was running out of energy to dodge.

I saw Fenris tense for a powerful swing and I raised my arm to block.

For a moment I was convinced he'd broken it. I snarled and punched him in the jaw, ignoring his left jab to my side that left me breathless with pain. He staggered back; not expecting my reckless attack.

I lunged forward to press my advantage-

"What in Andraste's Name is going on down here!"

Fenris was caught off-balance as my attack never materialised and I grabbed his arm. We steadied each other for a moment, exchanging a guilty look. Absently I realised I could feel the lyrium on his skin reacting to me, buzzing under my fingers. Ma glared at us, sparing a disappointed look for Carver and Varric, the former hanging his head, the latter merely shaking it.

Fenris and I looked at each other, assessing the damage and gasping for breath. He had a split lip, I was growing an excellent shiner and we both had enough bruises to open an exhibition. I'd have called it a draw.

I turned around to face Ma, although I didn't like to meet her eyes.

"Fenris, this is my mother, Leandra. Ma, meet Fenris. He's, he's a friend."

The corner of Fenris's mouth curled into a smile and he inclined his head respectfully.


	11. Seven Miners Die in Dragon Attack

"Madam Hawke."

Ma hadn't been expecting such a polite greeting and it took the wind out of her sails a bit. She looked Fenris up and down with a puzzled frown.

"Well, these aren't ideal circumstances for an introduction so won't tell you it's a pleasure to meet you."

"I can understand that," Fenris said. "No offence taken."

"As for you." Ma marched up to me and I resisted the urge to take a step back. "Honestly, Trip. I expected better. You're twenty-two, not seven, and you're too old for schoolboy brawls. What kind of example are you setting for your brother?"

Carver took exception to that, "I don't need him to set me an example anymore, Ma! I'm a grown man and I'm going to bed." So saying, he escaped before she could argue about it.

Varric had somehow managed to make himself almost invisible in plain view, and I expect Ma had forgotten he was there. She glanced between me and Fenris, her arms folded. The three of us stood in silence for a minute or two.

"I'm not going to apologise, Ma," I said once I realised what she was waiting for.

"He doesn't have to," Fenris backed me up, to my surprise. "It was a philosophical difference. I don't expect him to-"

I raised my eyebrows at him.

"-change."

Ma sighed and her brow wrinkled in concern, "Maker, you're bleeding on the floor, Fenris. Come upstairs and I'll clean you up. No arguments, you need it disinfected. Trip, get his clothes for him."

Fenris followed her out, as docile as a kitten, with a funny little smile on his face.

Once they'd gone, Varric chuckled, "If your mother ran Kirkwall…"

"We'd both be out of a job," I suggested.

I threw my clothes back on while Varric smoked and looked at me thoughtfully, "What exactly were you two fighting about?"

"Mages. What else would we argue about? He was locked up and made to do horrible things, and given no freedom; you'd think he'd understand."

"You're not Blondie, you know isn't that simple."

"I just wish Fenris would acknowledge that too. I don't care about the Circle, or politics, but when he talks about mages like that, he talks about _me_."

"Ah, so it is personal," Varric said in a knowing tone.

"Go back to the Hanged Man. Show's over." I bundled up Fenris's clothes.

"For the moment."

When I got back upstairs, Fenris was sitting on a chair in the kitchen, a stoic expression on his face as he endured Ma swabbing him down with the stinging stuff from the medicine cupboard. I was surprised Gamlen hadn't tried to drink it yet. Maybe he had and it had killed him somewhere; he wasn't in the living room.

Horse butted his nose against Fenris's shoes dangling from my fingers and then trotted into the kitchen, barking excitedly.

"Yeah, you're brilliant tracking dog. Can't fool the greatest nose in the East." Horse wagged his stumpy tail, his tongue lolling; sarcasm is completely lost on animals.

I put Fenris's shirt and coat in a bundle on the table, and dropped his shoes near his feet. Downstairs he'd been furious and frightening, now I was struck by things I hadn't noticed; the narrowness of his fingers compared to mine, the length of his neck. Slumped in a chair he looked deceptively vulnerable.

Ma had cleaned the blood off his lip but it had swollen, distorting the fine lines of his face; I couldn't remember why I'd been so keen on ruining it in the first place. We stared awkwardly at each other.

"Right," Ma said, carefully screwing the cap back on the little glass bottle. "It's been a while since I had to do that. Looking after Trip and Carver was like working at a field hospital sometimes. It surprised me that they both survived to adulthood."

"Thank you, Leandra." Fenris said her name carefully; it was obviously Ma who'd insisted he drop the formalities.

"You can thank me by refraining from punching my son in future, no matter how much he deserves it. He punches back, as you noticed." She nodded firmly, "It is a pleasure to meet you, Fenris. Now put your shirt on and both of you go and talk this out."

She walked over and I bent down for her to press a kiss to my cheek, "I'm going to bed, love, so turn the lights off when you're done. I've got work in the morning."

"Since when do you work?" I asked.

"It's only two days as week at Lirene's shop, but every little helps."

"But you shouldn't have to work at all," I protested.

"Goodnight, Trip," she smiled at me.

Fenris straightened up from tying his shoes, and I suggested we walk. I had no idea what Ma expected us to talk about, but at least if we were moving we wouldn't actually have to say anything.

Horse came with us, and I turned out the lights as we left.

"Your mother is very …impressive." Fenris broke the silence first as we strolled up towards Hightown.

"Anders wants to start a new religion based on her baking, Varric keeps flirting with her in an antique sort of way and Merrill wants to free her from a household of male oppression. If you start writing sonnets to her, I'm moving to Starkhaven."

Fenris chuckled, "I can't write. Poetry I mean."

"Varric taught me a lot of dirty limericks. But if you recite any of them to Ma I will punch you again. And I won't hold back next time."

"You mean you won't have Varric's rules holding you back. Who taught you to fight, anyway?"

"My father." I glanced at Fenris, "You wouldn't have liked him; he was a mage."

A faint line appeared between Fenris's eyebrows. "I don't dislike you, Trip. Anyway, if your father taught you, who taught him?"

"I don't know. I never thought to ask. He had a friend who was a Templar; maybe he taught him. I gather my father was quite wild when he was young. Not many mages successfully escape from a Circle."

"You fight like an amateur," Fenris said. He caught my glare and shook his head, "Unlike when you said the same of me, I don't mean it as an insult. You fight well, but I spent years being forced to do nothing else. Tevinter training methods are thorough and brutal. I wouldn't wish them on anyone."

I raised an eyebrow, watching Fenris debate with himself. "So, you're saying I shouldn't go to Tevinter for some coaching?"

He stopped and looked out to sea. We were halfway up to Hightown by now, and I wondered which of the lights floating on the harbour our mysterious Tevinter visitor was.

"I think we should fight again. Without Varric. To practice."

"Really?" I rested my elbows on the railing next to him. "I thought you hated what they did to you? But you want more?"

"No! But this is mine now." He looked at the lyrium streaking palms of his hands. "They forced it on me, but now it's mine to do with as I wish. And if I wish to pass it on to someone who steals back young mages from them, and humiliates Magisters I will."

I could see a suspicion of a smile curling around his swollen lip. He was talking very deliberately, and when he met my eyes I could see he wasn't making his offer lightly. I wouldn't have dreamt of turning him down. "All right, I accept. Once the bruises heal and your face goes back to its normal shape."

"You should talk."

I yawned. It had been a long, long day and it was all starting to catch up to me.

"I was surprised to learn your age. I thought you were much older," Fenris said thoughtfully, still staring out at the harbour.

"Is that a compliment or an insult?"

"It's a fact. But you said Carver fought in the war in Fereldan. He's a few years younger than you, isn't he?"

"Carver started shaving when he was thirteen. He was sixteen when he lied about his age to enlist, and they believed him. Ma went spare."

"He wanted to fight that badly?"

"No." I smiled wryly, "He wanted to get out of a house full of apostates. Prove he didn't need magic."

"Hm. I can't say I blame him."

"Neither can I to be honest. I'm just glad he made it back mostly in one piece. Don't tell him I said that," I added sharply.

Fenris glanced at me, "He's your brother, Trip; he knows."

"Do you have any siblings?" I asked, wondering who'd made him such an expert.

"I told you, I remember nothing of my past or family. First there was pain, and then there was the Imperium Secret Service and Denarius. Nothing more. If I had a family, they're gone and might as well have never been."

I frowned, and dug through my pockets for a smoke. Fenris had mentioned this before, but I'd never really stopped to think about it. "How old were you? Just guess."

"I don't know. Fourteen, fifteen. I'm older than you by at least five years."

"And you thought _I_ was older? _Now_ I'm insulted."

"Humans age strangely; I wasn't basing my guess on the number of grey hairs."

"Andraste's Tits I hope not." I glanced at his peculiar silver hair, "Especially coming from you."

"That's a cheap shot and you know it."

I grinned at him, and eventually he broke down and smiled back.

"On that cheerful note," I told him, "I'm going home. Don't get mugged on your way back to Hightown. Come on Horse, stop pissing on the roses; we're going back."

I can't say I really stopped grinning until I went to sleep.

* * *

><p>The next morning the telephone rang early, and I gleefully woke Carver up to tell him about it.<p>

"Out of bed, you great sap. We're going to city hall."

"I can't lift my arms," Carver gritted out, glaring at me through one slitted eye.

"The mayor wants to give us a reward for saving his son, and since you're the other official half of this agency-" I broke off as, with a pained groan, Carver forced himself to sit up. "We have an appointment at eleven," I told him.

"You have a black eye," Carver pointed out.

"And you won't be able to shake his hand because you'll faint from pain if you try. But you can stay home if you like."

"I'm going, I'm going. At least put some hot water on for me. Maybe a bath will help."

I rolled my eyes at his dramatics, but I did as I was asked. To be honest, I didn't really want to face the mayor alone. Our lives in Kirkwall were precarious as it was without me getting nervous and saying something I'd regret.

We took the cable-car uptown and I could barely keep a straight face the entire way. At this hour it was busy enough that we had no choice but to give our seats up, and Carver couldn't bear to hang on to the overhead straps. So he leant against the wall, and every time the car swayed the other direction I either grabbed his collar or gave him a shove to keep him upright.

I had a great time. Carver did not.

In Hightown I bought a paper and glanced at the headlines. They made a big deal of the shootout at the city library, and the gangsters that had attempted to kidnap the mayor's son while he was studying there. No mention of a Qunari. I guessed his murder would never even get as far as a trial.

We ambled in through the big double doors leading to city hall and presented ourselves to one of the girls at the counter. I could tell my black eye was drawing some odd looks, but there was nothing I could do about it. Just as long as they didn't assume I was here to see a judge.

They told us to go upstairs and Carver was too nervous to do more than smile at the pretty elevator attendant. Elevators were something we hadn't seen anything of until we arrived in Kirkwall as well. I still don't like 'em that much. We were shown into a really swell waiting room, with oil paintings on the walls and a polished wooden floor. We sat on leather couches with sun streaming through the windows above us.

A little while later a fella with a camera under his arm and a notebook in his pocket showed up, and nodded politely to us.

And then we waited. I had enough time to read the whole paper, with Carver looking over my shoulder. I offered to give him a few pages to himself but he just glared at me, his arms by his sides. We really did make a fine pair.

It was closer to noon when we were finally let in to see the Mayor. Dumas was exactly what I'd expect from a politician. He had a nice smile and a solid handshake, and I wanted to count my fingers afterwards. If he was surprised by my injuries and Carver's unenthusiastic handshake, he didn't show it.

"Now, I don't know if the gentlemen of the press," he smiled genially, like a crocodile, at the guy with the camera, "have talked to you yet."

"No Sir. Judging by today's paper, they didn't know we were there."

"Well, they will now. We need citizens like you, willing to lend a hand in service to the great city of Kirkwall." He flicked a glance at the reporter, just making sure he was writing it down.

"We were helping Officer Aveline," I said.

"Of course, she will get a commendation. A skirt in uniform always looks good- don't write that down you sap- and they said a woman couldn't do the job. It has been a long-standing policy of mine to encourage more young women to lend a hand in service to the great city of Kirkwall, yes, write that one down. Is this your first interview, kid?"

"Anyway, as Mayor, and as a father, I'm very grateful to you. You are owed a great debt, for dealing with those would-be kidnappers. It grieves me," he was addressing the reporter again, "that my son, or anyone's son, could come to any danger studying _alone_." His ice blue eyes met mine. "And I will pledge, in more detail at next month's charity dinner, more police for the streets of Hightown. But we can all be grateful to the Hawke brothers here, that no one was seriously injured in the events of yesterday. No one."

I shifted my jaw. Hell, it wasn't like I'd been planning on spilling the beans about the kid's Qunari friend anyway. I nodded.

The mayor beamed.

"Excellent. Now, uh, that black eye's not going to look good. Perhaps just the other brother in the picture. Yes?"

I was only too happy to step aside and Carver's smile was more a grimace of pain while he posed shaking Dumas's hand. The camera popped and flashed, and the reporter left, hurrying to file his story before the evening edition.

"All right, boys." Dumas lit a cigar. "What would you ask for your services to the city?"

I'd been thinking about this. "Well," I said slowly, "I've been working under my old Fereldan PI licence. I was still getting the paperwork together-"

"Done." He pressed a buzzer on his desk and a woman in a neat navy dress appeared. "Sophie, get this man a PI licence. Thank you again, Hawke."

Three-quarters of an hour later, I had my precious bit of paper, the ink still warm. We emerged into the afternoon sunshine.

"I feel like lunch," I said.

"I feel like going home." Carver had been wearing his favourite sullen expression for a while now. I assumed his arms were the cause.

"Go home then. The cable-cars won't be as busy at this hour. I have something I have to do."

He raised an eyebrow, "What are you planning?"

"I'm going to the Qunari embassy. Someone needs to tell the Arishok what happened to his Ashaad, and I doubt Dumas is going to let Seamus out of his sight for long enough for him to break the news."

"Is that safe?"

"I don't know. But it feels like the right thing to do."

* * *

><p>AN: Just a heads-up, Gentle Reader, that I have to get a manuscript ready for a competition, and it's taking up a large chunk of my writing time and creative energy, so updates will probably be a bit slower for the next few weeks. Big thanks for all your comments and watches, I'm glad people out there are enjoying the story.


	12. Citizens Save Mayor's Son

Warning, the following chapter contains scenes of a sexual nature not suitable for people under 18. Also, writing such scenes in first person is really, really difficult. Just putting that out there.

* * *

><p>The Arishok listened to everything I had to say, sneered a bit about our justice system and told me to leave again. I wasn't exactly sure what I'd expected going in, but a bit of gratitude would have been nice. On the other hand, I was grateful he hadn't decided to shoot the bringer of bad news.<p>

Everyone hated them. I couldn't figure out why they were so keen to set up their embassy. Dumas wasn't going to back down about it either. He had an election coming up in a couple of years. Talking tough about the Qunari was one of the few almost universally popular ideas he'd had.

At least it wasn't my problem.

When I got home Carver was waiting for me, sitting in the living room listening to the wireless as it played quiet jazz. Gamlen was asleep on the couch, even though it was mid-afternoon.

"Trip, I want a word," Carver said as I walked past into the kitchen for a drink.

"That was five. But you can have another one."

"What in Andraste's Name was that about this morning?" He got out of his chair and glared at me.

"What? If you didn't want your mug in the paper, you shouldn't have volunteered to come along." I stuck my head under the tap and drank straight from it. It had been a warm walk across Lowtown.

"I'm not talking about that. I'm talking about your blasted licence."

I wiped my mouth on the back of my hand and walked back into the living room. "What's your beef?"

"We saved his son. He would have given us anything. And you asked for a piece of paper."

"You're the one who said I needed a Kirkwall licence to start with!"

"Not at the expense of the rest of us!" he shouted back. "You could have asked for our house or some gold-"

"Will you two kill each other quietly?" Gamlen groaned, turning his head to glare sleepily at us. "People are trying to have a hangover over here."

"See! We had the opportunity to get away from him," Carver gestured at our uncle without lifting his arm too high.

"You think he was going to give us a mansion in Hightown just like that? You've been reading too many of Varric's books. From the fairytale section by the sound of it too."

"You don't think of anything but yourself. You say you're looking after this family, but only so far as it benefits _you_ and makes you look the big shot."

I narrowed my eyes, "You think I'm holding out on you? You think I don't give every spare copper I make to Ma?"

"I think you're too wrapped up in your dreams of freedom and doing whatever the hell you feel like to even consider what it's like for the rest of us. You do what you want, but this ain't what I planned to do with my life, and it ain't what Ma would want either."

Gamlen groaned and buried his head under his pillow.

"You expect me to be miserable just because you are? What kind of balled up logic is that? You get your mug in the paper and you think you're in charge."

"I'd to a much better job than you, at least."

"Oh yeah? Name one thing you've done that wasn't me throwing work your way 'cause I was busy." I folded my arms.

He raised his arm to shake his finger at me, and I smirked to see it still hurt him. "This ain't over, Trip. You'll see."

"Go boil your head."

I just can't win with that stupid sap.

* * *

><p>The next morning, Carver's mug was indeed in the paper. It was a terrible picture. Merrill came over to make sure we'd seen it and Carver got all red and stuttery about it. I deflated him by pointing out he wasn't actually there when we did what the mayor was thanking us for.<p>

It didn't matter to Ma though. She clipped out the picture and pinned it to the wall in my office. She congratulated me on my licence, too. Which was good, because I was this close to thinking Carver had a point. But now I was legit, I wouldn't have to worry so much about showing my card to cops and Templars if I had to; a point that wasn't lost on Ma even if it sailed over Carver's pointy head.

Over the next week or so our bruises healed, and the weather started to turn; the back of summer had finally broken. Kirkwall didn't really get cold by Fereldan standards; it didn't even snow here. The big trees lining the avenue up to Hightown started to show the odd gold leaves, and the sea became grey and unruly when still-warm days ended in sharp, cold showers rolling in from the ocean.

And I had an Orlesian visitor. Well, to be honest he was probably only the Kirkwall version of Orlesian, all the bad temper and arrogance with none of the class or taste rumoured to be prevalent among the real thing.

Ghyslain de Carrac was looking for his wife. It seemed pretty obvious to me why she'd left the sap. He spent about ten minutes telling me what a lousy wife she was before actually getting around to telling me she was missing. I'd been expecting to be hired to find out what she was up to at nights. But apparently, Ghyslain already knew.

"She spends her nights with whores," he said, rolling the word around in his mouth before spitting it out. "They even send her flowers."

"Look, if she's not asking for money and you don't miss her, why not just let her go?"

"It's her family! They think I might have," he looked around the room and lowered his voice, "done something to her. They always believed I married her for her inheritance."

"Well, did you?" I asked, for the first time feeling slightly uneasy about all of this. Ghyslain didn't strike me as the cold-blooded murdering type, but I could see a domestic argument getting violent all too easily. Bad things happen accidentally, and the kind of avarice needed to take advantage of it isn't that uncommon.

"I would never hurt her. I loved her once." He heaved a sigh, although I sensed it was more in exasperation at his missing wife than in nostalgia for lost love.

"Well, if I do find her, I ain't gonna drag her back if she don't want to go back to you."

"She's my wife! She has to come back to me."

I raised an eyebrow. "That's her call, not mine. But I'll see if I can get her to write a letter to her folks. Will that satisfy you?"

"Fine, fine, I just want this whole mess to end." He tossed me twenty-five silver. "She often pays for some knife-eared little bitch-boy named Jethann to service her at the Blooming Rose. I went to talk to him already but he had nothing to say to me."

I opened my mouth and then shut it again; it wouldn't be good practice to chastise a client on his language, no matter how much he deserved it. "I'm not surprised," I said eventually. "I'll see what I can do."

Ghyslain left, still muttering obscenities under his breath, but I'd already moved on from him.

I had an excuse to visit the Rose.

That place- it wasn't that it had a reputation, it had a _mythology_. They said people lost their fortunes there, that you could get anything you wanted, that they kidnapped beautiful young people from all across Thedas to work there, that they used all kinds of magic to-

Well, those were the stories.

The reality was that it was horrifyingly expensive, and most people who went merely paid for drinks just to say that they'd been. They shoulda sold postcards. Maybe they did. Obviously, I'd never been near the place. Partly because sex wasn't the sort of thing _I'd_ ever had to pay for, and partly because there's nothing more pathetic than hanging around a brothel you can't afford to enter.

"Hey Carver, this'll cheer you up." I went back into the apartment. Carver was at the kitchen table with the paper, looking for jobs and chewing on a pencil. "We've got a missing wife to find."

"How is this supposed to cheer me up?"

I grinned, "Last known location; the Rose."

"You're kidding." He stared at me. "You're not kidding. Just, wait okay?" He practically fell off his chair and stumbled out of the room. "I need to shine my shoes," he called back.

"They ain't gonna be looking at your feet, you know."

* * *

><p>Mid-afternoon and the red lantern district was already busy, but most of the folks there looked like tourists. There were plenty of places to go other than the Rose, for those who couldn't afford the main attraction. Two young fellas like Carver and me go a lot of attention, which Carver didn't know what to do with.<p>

I just shook my head and kept walking. Once I'd made it clear we wouldn't be deflected from our destination they backed off. Or maybe the Rose's muscle was discreetly keeping the competition away from the front door.

The Blooming Rose was a big stone building festooned with lanterns and with actual roses growing up around the door and over the walls. There weren't any obvious bouncers, and no girls in stockings making eyes at folks out the front; the Rose didn't need to advertise.

The expectation was, once you stepped through the door, that you would start buying drinks or people. And if you didn't, you were swiftly ejected again. So as we stepped through, into a world of deep carpets, and cut glass chandeliers, and bluesy piano music, I ignored the view – and the corners of my eyes were telling me there were some spectacular vistas available - and walked right up to the matriarchal woman sitting near the bar. She was graciously accepting deferential greetings from some of the other customers, and she had an overwhelming air of authority. Whether or not she owned the place, she was in charge here.

I took my hat off politely, introduced myself, showed her my new licence, thanked the Maker I had it as I was pretty sure she wouldn't have been fooled by my forgery, and told her I was here to see Jethann. Carver just gawked and stared at his newly-shined shoes whenever someone caught his eye.

I could tell Madam Lusine, as she introduced herself, wasn't particularly pleased to have me in her establishment, but she gracefully told me where to find Jethann, and just as gracefully dismissed me. I hadn't expected anything better, and it could have been a lot worse.

"I figure," I said casually to Carver, as we made our way around the bar, "we find out which hotel she's staying at, get her to write a letter and be done with it. That is not a marriage I want to try and repair- oh, if it isn't our dear Uncle."

Gamlen was sitting at the bar, a look of guilty shock on his face as we strolled up to him.

"So this is where our family fortune went." I folded my arms. He can't have been a regular here anymore; he must have had one of his rare wins. On today of all days. Sometimes, Fate has a sense of humour.

Gamlen scowled, "If you don't say anything to your mother, I won't."

"You can say what you like. _I'm_ here on business. My business, not theirs." I kept walking.

"Wait, you won't tell her, will you?"

"Sorry Uncle, I'm working. I can't stop and chat."

Carver and I exchanged grins.

"Unbelievable," Carver said.

"I won't tell her. It's more fun this way."

Lusine had directed us to a room on one of the upper floors of the Rose, towards the back. Above the ground floor, the place just looked like a really swanky hotel. There were even potted plants outside the doors. The only difference was if you met another customer in the hallway they avoided eye-contact.

Carver followed me so closely he was practically stepping on the back of my shoes.

"Just don't knock on any doors unless you're absolutely sure it's the right one."

"Will you relax?"

I knocked on a door and it was opened by an elf with enormous blue eyes. He smiled at us.

"Are you Jethann?" I asked.

"I'm sorry, today's my rest day." His gaze swept me up and down, "But I'll make an exception for you."

"Ah." Not quite what I was expecting.

"What can I say?" he shrugged, "Why work if you're not working _hard_?" He gave me the most lascivious grin I have ever been on the receiving end of.

I laughed, "That's quite a compliment, I suppose."

"Compliments aren't all I'm good at."

"That's uh, very nice." I was off-balance all of a sudden and I didn't know why.

I knew why.

It's because he had a long neck and narrow fingers and sharp cheekbones and a straight nose- and that makes me sound like an elf-fetishist but it wasn't like that. He reminded me of something I couldn't have, but that I could have.

I shook my head to clear it.

"I'm here about Ninette. Have you seen her lately?" I asked as Jethann stepped back and waved us into the room.

"Hm. Not for several weeks which is a shame. I enjoy her company."

I grinned, "The way I hear it, the feeling is mutual."

"Ohh," Jethann spread his hands, "he flirts! Even better."

"Trip!" I jumped as Carver reminded me of his existence.

"Yes, right. So you don't know what happened or where she could be?"

"I heard she left her worthless husband. Good for her. I just wish she'd said goodbye."

"So, she told you she was leaving?"

"No, I just hope that's what she did."

I pinched the bridge of my nose, "That's not very useful."

"There was something else. You're not the first person to be asking me about her."

_That_ got my attention.

"Could her husband have hired another detective?"

"I think he would have mentioned it if he had. He wouldn't tell me who he was, and he wouldn't sleep with me either."

"Careful, you'll make me think I'm not special."

Carver grabbed my arm, "Will you stop flirting with him?"

"He started it. Besides, you should watch and learn. You need all the help you can get." I pulled my arm away from him.

I turned back to Jethann. "Please excuse my brother-"

"Oh, he's excused."

"Tell me about this fella."

"His name's Emeric. He said he would continue his investigation."

"Cop maybe? But if he was, why wouldn't he say so? Jealous boyfriend perhaps?"

Jethann shrugged, "That's your area of expertise, sweetie, not mine. But Ninette never mentioned anyone special."

"I guess Aveline's our next stop."

"Are you quite sure you're ready to leave so soon?" Jethann asked. "Not interested in my many, many services?"

"Maker's Breath," Carver muttered, his lip curling into a sneer.

I shrugged and smiled, "Jethann, I'm pretty sure I couldn't afford you if I saved up for a month."

Jethann looked at me from under his eyelashes, "I told you, it's my day off. I don't have to turn a profit."

"Oh…I, uh."

"I can't believe you're even considering this!" Carver glared at the elf. "Just look at him. He's …he's…"

"He's _what_, Carver?" I asked coldly. "An elf? A man? Is that all that matters? If it bothers you that much, go buy Gamlen a drink, as it seems you'd get along with him."

"Like hell I will! Just …ugh…disgusting."

I turned to watch him sweep out of the room and slam the door, my fists clenched at my sides. Part of me agreed with him. A few months ago _all_ of me would have agreed with him.

I jumped as I felt Jethann's hands on my shoulders.

"Relax. We'll give him a few more reasons to be jealous."

He dug his fingers in and suddenly I was boneless. I shuddered as he unkinked muscles I didn't even know I had.

"How did you do that?"

"Trade secret," he murmured, working his way down my spine. "I learnt it from an acquaintance; he would have liked you." When he reached my waist he snaked his arms around it, pressing himself flush against my back and tugging at my belt buckle.

"Maker!"

"And now you've undone all my good work. Why are you so jumpy? Oh, don't tell me you're a virgin," he purred.

"Don't sound so enthusiastic about the idea," I said, half-heartedly trying to pull his hands away. "I'm not!" I added, in case it wasn't clear. "It's just always been girls," I muttered. He was letting his hands rest in mine, his arms still around me. It wasn't bad exactly, but I was wondering if I should thank him and make a break for it.

"Hm." He slipped away from me and when I turned around he was perched on the edge of the bed, look at me with blue eyes bright with excitement. "Come on," he said with a smile, "take your time. I'll behave. For now."

I didn't make a break for it. I couldn't. He was doing something I'd only ever seen women do; reach down inside a fella with a heated look and a smile and just a slight swing of hair and flip every switch he's got. I needed to see if I could do this for real, not just half-heartedly imagining it. I approached him warily, but he was keeping his word and he didn't move as I sat next to him. I reached out and ran my finger along the edge of his ear. He sighed pleasingly and tilted his head. So I did it again.

"He's an elf, isn't he?" he asked me eventually, when I'd moved from his ears to his jaw and his neck, tracing imaginary lines where I remembered, shamefully – because I know he hated them – other lines gleaming on a different elf.

I nodded, "Yeah, but it's not because of that."

"I know," Jethann smiled wickedly at me, "after one of my hands-on lessons, you'll sweep him off his feet. Trust me."

"I really can't imagine him ever being swept."

"It's surprisingly easy." With one movement I would have called 'practiced' if I wasn't being charitable, Jethann flung a leg over my hip and sat in my lap. "You just have to leap on that tasty son of a gun, and tell him you're going to give him the ride of his life."

I opened my mouth to say something, and bold as brass he slipped a couple of fingers past my teeth. "And before he says anything," Jethan continued, and I could feel his breath hot on my neck as he worked his fingers in and out of my mouth, "you tell him he's the most attractive thing you've ever seen." His other hand was skilfully undoing my tie and before I knew it, the buttons on my shirt as well. "And that he's been driving you completely crazy," Jethann continued to pour words into my ear under his breath but I was beginning to lose track of the sentences. Only the meaning remained.

I pressed my tongue against his fingers and he rolled his hips against mine.

"Mm, that's more like it." He ran his hand down the planes of my chest and stomach after pulling my shirt open and over my shoulders, "You _do_ work hard." He said with an admiring smile. "So," he retrieved his hands from my mouth and chest, and pulled his shirt off over his head, "you gotta show him so. A handsome bastard like you will have him on his knees in no time." He flicked his tongue over his bottom lip, "Begging."

"Uh…" I hadn't closed my mouth, but I was considering it to do some begging of my own. Jethann was lean and pale and not very muscular. He was nothing much like-

He was beautiful. So different from anyone I'd ever been with before. That's all. I knew, somewhere in a mind getting increasingly fogged, that he pleased people for a living, but all I wanted to do was please him.

I reached for him, and he grinned and slipped away, agile as a cat. He knelt in front of me, and started on my belt again. This time, I didn't push him away.

"Let's see what we've got in here." He licked his lips and slipped clever fingers through my open fly. "Oh…" he raised his blue eyes to meet mine briefly. "You might not want to just shove this at him. You'll hurt him if you don't scare him off first."

Then he pursed his lips and kissed me, without getting off his knees. I exhaled raggedly and ran my fingers through his hair and along his ears.

"I'll take that as a yes," he murmured, and kissed me again. Deeply. I let my head loll back and I found myself staring at the plaster moulding on the ceiling through half-closed eyes without really seeing it.

I could hear him breathing sharply through his nose, and the soft sound of his lips against my skin. He squeezed, and my hips bucked.

"Oi," I looked back at him, and he raised his eyebrows at me from under tousled strands of blonde hair, "what about you?"

He pulled his head back and released me, "Aww." Another kiss. "What a sweetheart. Don't move."

He winked and with one lithe movement stood up and shucked the rest of his clothes, stepping out of them with a careless smile. He hadn't been faking his enthusiasm. At least, I don't think I could have faked enthusiasm like that. He was working very hard indeed.

"Now adventurous young men like us should always be prepared." He picked a little bottle off the bedside table and held it in front of my face for a moment so I could read the label.

I didn't think I was quite that adventurous. He must have read my expression because he laughed.

"It's as easy as I am." So saying, he pulled the top off with his teeth and poured it over his fingers. "Plenty for you." He started smearing it over me, "and plenty for your boyfriend, you understand? Take it slow."

He was doing something with his fingers that made me jump every time he slid them down and around me and all I could do was nod.

Satisfied, he put the bottle away and kneeled over me, a knee on either side of my hips. "Don't worry about me," he said, "I've had lots of practice." He put one hand on my shoulder and used the other to hold me still. His eyes fluttered closed and he exhaled as he lowered himself onto me.

"Wow," I breathed. He made it look easy. It didn't feel easy; it felt amazing and so tight I gritted my teeth in unneeded sympathy.

He chuckled and opened his eyes again. On impulse I reached for him, sitting up a bit further and wrapping my arms around him, pressing my mouth against his skin. I don't know why I felt so grateful, but I did. That he opened himself up and accepted another man, eagerly, easily and kindly was the sort of reassurance by example I didn't even know I'd been looking for.

He draped his arms over my shoulders and started rocking his hips. I wasn't game to do anything just yet; I didn't want to hurt him. He didn't sound like he was hurting though; his breath hitched and he made pleasured little humming sounds in the back of his throat. Every time he pulled himself up he poked me in the stomach.

Given I was tasting salt right off his collarbones and chest it seemed ridiculous to be worried about where I was touching him, and I reached down between us and wrapped my hand around him.

"Attaboy," he murmured encouragingly.

This I knew how to do.

He started moving faster, harder. Given that his legs were pinning me to the bed there wasn't much I could do but rock along with him and scrape my teeth over his hairless chest while he did all the work.

My control, already frayed, was slipping fast. Jethann encouraged me further, and I could feel him tensing and jolting under my fingers and around my hips. At some point, this had become a race.

I won. Or lost, maybe, muffling myself against his skin, my fingers pressed into his back, my other hand wrapped around him and half crushed against my stomach. I could hear myself making desperate little sounds as I tried to eke it out and find my breath over the pounding of my pulse in my ears.

Jethrann cried out, incoherent and strangely joyful, and I felt heat spill across my fingers and stomach, trickling down to join the mess where we were still joined.

I let myself flop back on the bed, still mostly clothed, Jethann sprawled naked across me smiling like a cat with cream.


	13. Unions Demand Better Wages

When I opened my eyes Jethann had cleaned us up, put his trousers back on and was sitting astride me again as he did the buttons on my shirt back up.

"Welcome back," he said cheekily.

"Uh, so what's the custom now?"

"Honey, I told you before, this is not business. This is me helping a poor shy Feraldan boy out, as it were. It's not something I have the pleasure of doing often, you know."

For a moment I considered whether or not I should try and trick Fenris into a similar experience. It was only for a moment; I didn't want anyone's hands but mine on him. Yeah, hypocritical I know. It's not like it mattered, really.

"I see, well, thank you. I think." I had a lot to think about, and this wasn't the appropriate surroundings in which to do it.

"One other thing," Jethan said, looking down at his hands. "Could you, I mean as a favour, let me know when you find Ninette? Just tell me she's okay."

I smiled at him, "Yeah, I can do that. I'll let you know what I turn up."

"Thank you. I'll let you get back to your brother before he breaks himself buying drinks downstairs."

Shit. I'd plain forgotten about Carver.

"Hell!" Jethann obligingly got out of my way as I collected my hat and smoothed down my hair. "What time is it?"

"About six." Jethan tilted his head and looked at me, "You won't be back for more, will you?"

I shook my head. "It's not a reflection on you. You were…"

"Amazing, I know." He had the remarkable ability to put people at ease, and I wondered if that was his real secret. "You go and seduce your elf. I'd wish you luck, but you don't need it."

I laughed and shook my head, and bid him farewell.

Carver wasn't at the bar. There was no sign of Gamlen either, a fact for which I was grateful. Madam Lusine raised an eyebrow at me as I hurried out, and all I could manage was a sheepish smile. Chalk up another victory to the Rose, I guess.

I'd half-expected Carver had gone home in disgust, but I found him leaning against a wall near the cable-car stop, smoking. We stared at each other. Eventually Carver shrugged.

"Can you spot me the fare home?" he asked.

"What? Why? It's only ten coppers."

"Yeah." He stood on his cigarette.

I raised an eyebrow, "What have you been up to?"

He folded his arms, "I could ask you the same."

"Right, fair enough." I dug through my pockets for change and handed him his fare. "We're not going to-"

"Discuss this."

"Ever."

"Absolutely."

* * *

><p>"Emeric, Emeric," Aveline flipped through the contents of a filing cabinet. "And you shouldn't have got back here without a visitors' pass. Again."<p>

I shrugged. Station security wasn't my problem. Aveline closed the filing cabinet.

"Well, if he's a PI he's not licensed." She gave me a significant look, "Not that it means a great deal around here, apparently. Are you all right, Trip? You look exhausted."

"I didn't sleep too well. Got a lot on my mind. Well, thanks Aveline. I owe you one. And congratulations on the commendation."

"Oh you saw that did you? Page eight, with Carver on page one." She shook her head with a helpless smile.

"You'll get another one. I'll be sure to keep Carver out of the picture when you do."

I hadn't slept well. I had barely slept at all. I felt equal parts guilty and ashamed and hopeful, and I didn't know if I should hate Jethann or Fenris or myself. I'm a simple guy, I like simple things. Or I used to.

I still had trouble believing what I remembered had actually happened. That I'd enjoyed it. The memory was like a toothache; I couldn't stop poking it and then I'd wince and try and hurl my mind away from it.

And the worst part was, despite Jethann's optimism, none of it was any use when I thought about Fenris. If I leapt on him and took my shirt off I'm quite sure he'd break my nose and leave without stopping to finish the fight. That's what I would have done in his place. But the thought of him in Jethann's place – _that_ was going to keep me up for a few nights yet.

I just had to remember that no matter what kind of deviant I was turning into, Fenris showed no signs of similar inclinations. So none of it mattered.

I had work to do anyway.

Carver was waiting out the front. I shrugged when I saw him.

"Emeric's not on the books. Which means we're going to have to do this the hard way."

"Talking to a lot of hotel clerks?"

"Yeah. You take Lowtown and I'll take the docks. We'll meet back at home this evening and compare notes. And keep an ear out for this Emeric, I want to know who the hell he is and what he thinks he's doing."

I found nothing.

And when Carver and I compared notes that evening back in my office, it turned out he'd had a similar lack of success.

"Well she can't have just vanished into thin air," Carver said, putting his feet on my desk.

"Maybe she's left the city. If she has there's nothing more we can do."

"You don't look convinced."

"I'm not. If she left her husband then fine. I don't blame her. But she's got family and a, a professional lover, and she didn't say a word to either of them. I have a bad feeling."

"You think something's happened to her?"

"It's not impossible. We may need to start working on that assumption. We need to visit Aveline again and ask her who's come through the morgue lately."

We both jumped when someone knocked on the door. I laughed and Carver smiled weakly. To be honest, I'd never worked anything that came close to a murder investigation before. I think we were both a bit unnerved by the idea.

"Well, go and answer it," I told Carver. "You're closer."

He sighed and got out of his chair.

His back stiffened when he opened the door, "A Templar," he said loudly, "that's a surprise."

I clenched my fists and glanced at the window. If I didn't break my ankle leaping through it I could lose them in the Alienage easily enough. Carver had a hand behind his back and he was holding out one finger. Just one Templar.

He probably wasn't an apostate hunting party, but he'd summon one if I made a break for it.

"Well, show him in then," I said casually. A lot more casually than I felt.

Carver stepped aside, and let the man in.

"The brothers Hawke, I presume. I recognised you from the paper," the Templar nodded at Carver. He removed his bowler hat as Carver waved him into the empty chair. He was in his mid-fifties and built like a boxer – hell, he might have been one once; someone had flattened his nose a long time ago. He had a briefcase with him, and he leaned it against the leg of his chair.

I rose from my seat and shook his hand, meeting a pair of shrewd blue eyes that were sizing me up with some amusement.

"So this is the pup that's been dogging my steps all day. My name is Emeric." He sat down, "I see that name is familiar to you."

"We've heard it a couple of times in connection with a woman named Ninette."

"Ghyslain's wife. Yes, I've been looking into her disappearance."

I sat back down and Carver leant against the wall.

"So have we. Her husband seems to think she's run off with someone."

"It would relieve me if that turned out to be the case."

Emeric told us that he originally became interested when a circle mage went missing. He'd known her reasonably well, and didn't think she'd tried to run away, and when he uncovered more missing women, he started to get concerned. Ninette, it appeared, was only the latest in a handful of women to disappear.

My heart sank.

"If this is as bad as it sounds, we need to go to the cops."

"I've already sounded them out. Until we get some hard evidence, there's nothing they can do. Or are willing to do."

"We?"

"I could use your help. I'm not as young as I used to be. If you're worried about the pay I can probably help from some of the Templar funds."

Snitch fund, he meant. Turn in an apostate and there's usually a small financial reward. I was less concerned about taking his coin than working with him. On the other hand, I was already on the case. And if Ninette was in trouble, I wanted to help her if I could.

"All right, let's see what we can do." I shook his hand.

"Good, this is what I have already," he said, opening his briefcase and handing me a pile of papers. There were a few photos of the women, dates when they were last seen, family connections – I'd never seen anything like it.

"There's a lot of information here. How long have you been at this?"

"A few months now." He looked pleased.

"Ninette's been gone for over a week. If we'd known faster, we could have put Horse on the case. We've got the best tracking dog in the city." I picked up a pencil. It looked like I'd have to start making notes of my own.

Carver just looked a bit bemused by the whole thing, but he wouldn't have admitted it by leaving. He dragged a chair in from the kitchen and sat down as we started discussing what we had.

"They're all slightly older women; but there's no other obvious connection. None of them knew each other, or even moved in the same circles."

"At the risk of sounding like one of Meredith's campaign speeches, it could be blood magic," I said. "A bunch of similar people disappearing. Although according to the pulp novels, it's usually virgins they're after."

"I really hope not. But it's worth chasing up," Emeric said. "And now there's a few of us, it'll be safer to chase it up."

"How do you plan on-"

I was interrupted by another knock at the door and Carver opened it to admit Varric and Anders, both of whom by this point had a standing invitation for dinner. I saw Varric grab Anders' wrist to stop him bolting conspicuously right back out the door when he saw who was sitting in my office.

"Ah, fellas," I waved them over, although Anders had gone as white as a sheet. "This is Emeric, he's helping us find a missing woman. Or, we're helping him."

"An apostate?" Anders asked thinly.

"Nope," I said cheerfully enough, although I shot Anders a stern look. Honestly, was I really about to start turning in apostates?

Ma came in upon hearing Anders' voice, Horse at her heels. She blinked but otherwise didn't miss a beat when she saw Emeric, who was holding his hat in his hands and looking a bit uncomfortable now that the business meeting had turned into some kind of family gathering.

I introduced him to Ma as Carver gave Varric and Anders the short version of what we were doing. Ma had had a lifetime of putting on a face for Templars and she greeted him in a friendly manner. Horse sniffed his shoes and wagged his tail.

Emeric shook everyone's hand, and I realised the poor bastard was practically green with envy. I didn't see a ring on his finger, and I guess a bachelor life at the Templar barracks would be a lonely one.

"Well, we should keep going over your notes now we're on a roll," I found myself telling him, "after dinner, maybe."

Ma beamed proudly at me. Carver raised his eyebrows and Anders muttered some excuse about a prior engagement until Varric forcibly steered him back away from the door.

"There'll be plenty to go around, Blondie."

Emeric just looked a bit overwhelmed, as he self-consciously muttered his thanks.

I don't hate individual Templars. I'm scared of them, more often than not, and I hate them when they're hunting me, but Father always told me that they were human beings too, capable of love and kindness no matter what their training had taught them otherwise. A Templar had allowed my father to have a chance at freedom.

Emeric wanted to protect his charge. To protect these unknown women who'd disappeared. I could not fault him. And he looked so damn pleased at being invited in for pork roast and beans.

Gamlen just gaped as Carver and I dragged a table in from the living room, and brought chairs back from my office. We barely fit everyone into our kitchen. Anders surreptitiously took a seat closest to the door, but any awkward silence was filled ably by Varric, who knew the kind of stories that would have both apostates and Templars in stitches. Emeric had tales of his own; I'd been right about him being a boxer, and he had a natural flare for drama when he recounted some of the fights of his youth.

Our conversation overflowed the tiny apartment, and kept away the creeping chill of early autumn as we ate tomorrow's leftovers and didn't care.

I wondered what Fenris was doing. Perhaps he was sitting in his decrepit mansion eating alone. Or prowling the streets on whatever business he had. I imagined him sitting next to me as one of the family and immediately wished I hadn't, because for the rest of the evening, the gathering seemed incomplete.


	14. Orlesian Winter Fashions Revealed

"The Black Emporium?"

"I've heard of that place," Varric said. "I don't know anyone who's ever been though. At least, no one who's ever come back to tell the tale."

Once we'd finished Ma's trifle Anders had excused himself and left, but Varric was interested in our case and remained as we sat around the kitchen table discussing our next move.

Varric had been joking, but Emeric looked grave, "We've known about the Emporium for some time. Nothing legal and nothing cheap, or so they say. Any agents we send there either find nothing, or they don't come back. Even Meredith's thrown it in the too hard basket."

"And we're going to go there?" I asked.

"We're missing five women. If this is blood magic, it's something big and complicated; whoever is behind it is going to be using a lot of other resources too. The Black Emporium's the best bet as a supplier. What I'd like to do is rule it out. But the evidence suggests they kill Templars on sight and I'll admit I haven't been game to test this."

"But they won't kill potential customers," Varric said, "at least in theory."

"Well, I'm keen," I said. "I hafta see this place for myself. We've got nothing to gain by waiting, but how do we find it?"

"We- the Templars know where it is," Emric said. "It's not always accessible; it's hidden by magic some of the time. But I can show you the entrance. It's in Darktown."

"Naturally."

"Promise me you'll all be careful," Ma said. She and Gamlen had remained to listen, although Gamlen was more interested in the racing results in the paper. "You take your gun, Carver."

"Yes Ma," Carver said dutifully. He raised his eyebrows at me and I shook my head slightly. Templar accompanying us or not, I was not about to start carrying a gun.

"Bianca and I will take care of them," Varric promised.

Emeric had a car parked out the front, and we drove as far as we dared into Darktown. I gave it fifty-fifty odds of it still being there when we got back.

We weren't near the water this time, and we wound our way down dark streets rustling with those who couldn't even find somewhere to squeeze in among the decaying tenements that stank and mouldered and occasionally collapsed on those unfortunates who lived in them. As space grew more valuable, people had just built new buildings on top of the old, and it was no longer possible to see the original lie of the land.

Darktown reminded me how lucky I was to live in Gamlen's apartment.

We scrambled up rope ladders and rickety stairs, our footsteps rattling on planks that were laid across the buildings below us. Emeric's uniform and our numbers kept us from being actively attacked, but we endured an endless barrage of hostile glares and whispered insults.

Darktown didn't like visitors.

We ended up traversing a tunnel bored right into the rock below Kirkwall. Emeric remained outside; he said we wouldn't be able to miss the Black Emporium, if it was open. There were people living here too, and businesses of dubious varieties in tiny little wooden shacks. The walls were covered in graffiti, some of it dating back to the Imperium; I recognised the spiky lettering of the Tevinter language. And there were various other obscene symbols scrawled on the walls that traversed all language barriers.

At the end of the tunnel was a door, apparently leaning against the wall. A rather bedraggled lantern sat on the floor next to it. I grabbed the doorhandle and pulled, and to my surprise it silently swung open.

A wave of cold air washed over us, redolent with spice and leather and a hint of decay. I could hear music too.

"This is the place," I said, and boldly stepped in before I lost my nerve.

"Welcome!" We jumped as an aged voice boomed around us, "To the Black Emporium."

We couldn't see where the voice was coming from at first, but it continued to mutter about the wonders that were on sale within. We wandered down a short passageway and found ourselves in a large room, in the centre of which stood a twisted wooden sculpture under glass. Carver took a step towards it and instantly recoiled as it spoke; we'd found our proprietor.

"I am Xenon, the Antiquarian."

"No kidding," Carver said, looking a bit pale.

We weren't alone with Xenon. A young boy of about ten stood attentively by the door, and to my surprise, there was a golem there too. Varric stared up at it admiringly. I went to talk to the boy but was forestalled by the aged creature in the centre of the room.

"Don't manhandle the urchin. Get your own."

"Right."

The boy ignored me.

The majority of the merchandise was probably very, very illegal, and likely dangerous as well. We came across a mouldering pile of bones and clothing; brown coats and bowler hats. Xenon seemed to find it funny.

"What we need," I muttered, "is some sort of ledger. Excuse me," I raised my voice, "do you deliver?"

"Occasionally," was the response.

We spread out, staring at mysterious bottles, ancient-looking finery, and a good selection of weapons. There was a hideous scream from the corner and I turned to see Varric backing away from an ordinary looking wooden crate.

"This place is a joke shop too," he said a bit shakily.

There weren't many prices visible, but those I saw reminded me that I'd do well not to break anything.

It was all very fascinating, and I could see it would be very easy to lose hours here just browsing, but Ninette was potentially in danger. I dragged Carver away from his own reflection in an old mirror and we met in a clear space a good distance from the Antiquarian to hold a brief discussion.

"We're not going to find anything just browsing his stock. I'd like to have a word with the kid, but I don't think he's going to let us." I frowned, "The golem is what worries me. How long can you hold it off?"

"Are you crazy?" Carver muttered. "Bullets will just bounce off that thing. _Nothing_ is going to hold it off."

"Then we run."

I walked over to Xenon and peered at the open book on the table next to him. I could see lists of figures and names.

"Excuse me. Can I have a look at your ledger? I'm not here to check your taxes, but this is really important. People's lives could be at stake."

"No."

"Well, that is a pity. It was worth a try." I shrugged and made to leave. I summoned my magic and turned back, stretching out my hand. The book's pages rustled and then it flew to me, smashing through the front of the glass case as it did so. I could hear the golem grinding to life as I sprinted down the other end of the shop, flipping frantically through the pages.

"Trip!" Carver had drawn his gun on the golem, despite his earlier objections. He didn't try to use it just yet though.

"You've got nerve, I'll give you that," Varric sounded amused as I paused next to a lamp and scanned the faded writing in the ledger, all the while listening to the grinding of rock on rock as the golem awoke.

"This is interesting." At least Xenon didn't seem angry. Yet.

"Uh." I wasn't even sure what I was looking for. The women started disappearing months ago; I wouldn't find what I was after all on one page. I flipped some more pages, scanning them for anything that stood out.

"Move!" Varric grabbed my sleeve and hauled me away as the golem pounded towards us. The Antiquarian was mumbling something but I couldn't pick out the words and didn't care to. He didn't seem to be doing any magic at least.

"I think it's gaining speed," Carver said, nearly tripping over a stack of old books as he grabbed my other arm and helped Varric steer me around the back of the room while I read.

"We gotta go!"

We'd circled around behind Xenon and were coming up on the exit again. Out of time, I slammed the ledger shut and threw it at the golem.

"Beat it!" The three of us ran.

I half expected the entrance to have magicked itself away, but the door was still there. We flung ourselves through it, Xenon's wheezy laughter following us out.

We started to run out of breath halfway down the tunnel and we slowed to a walk.

"Do you think he'll let us back?" Varric asked.

"How desperate would we be to go and find out?" I asked. We'd made it out in one piece, and it was all starting to seem pretty funny, the three of us playing tag with a golem.

"Varric, I'll leave it up to you to make this adventure more adventurous."

"You arm-wrested the golem, and Xenon was forced to give you the ledger. No, he asked you three riddles-"

"This was all for nothin' if you didn't actually find anything in the ledger, Trip," Carver pointed out.

Varric looked at me enquiringly.

"I might have something. Let's see what Emeric thinks first."

When we returned to the tunnel entrance, Emeric was gone.

"Do you think something's happened to him?" Carver asked.

"This is Darktown; I'd be surprised if something hadn't. Come on, we gotta find him."

"Found him," Varric said, almost immediately.

"That was quick."

"Dwarves have good night vision." He pointed down to what would anywhere else be barely worthy of the name alley, but in Darktown was as close as it got to a main street. From this distance I couldn't see exactly what was going on, but given the menacing nature of the group of men surrounding the Templar, it probably wasn't pleasant.

"We need to get down to him," Carver said.

"Come on!" I didn't waste time looking for a ladder or a walkway; the place was a maze and unless you knew it well, there was no way to get anywhere fast. Instead I jumped down off the path, landing on the roof of the building below us. I felt its wooden slats give slightly as I slid down them, and I heard them crack as Carver and Varric followed me.

Oh well, wasn't my roof.

It was quite a drop onto the street below, luckily someone broke my fall. I dropped down onto one of the men and we both tumbled to the ground, but he was the one who copped cobblestones to the face, unprepared for my weight. There were about half a dozen of them circling Emeric. The Templar had his gun drawn, but firing it here would just attract more attention of the wrong kind.

The distraction of our arrival was just what Emeric had been waiting for. He darted in and without effort smacked one of the men on the nose. He fell over. Emeric turned and did the same to another, effortlessly stepping around a clumsy attack to do so.

By this time Carver and Varric were on the scene and the tide had turned as they laid into them with fists and feet. Varric waved Bianca around and those that could still walk staggered away from us, cursing.

"Twenty years ago I could have taken the lot of them," Emeric said. "I appreciate your timely intervention."

"What are you doing down here anyway?" I asked.

"Someone was carrying a suspicious sack. I told them to stop and when I came down they had friends waiting."

"The sack's still here," Carver said, walking over to it. "It moved!" He hastily stepped back.

We clustered around the sack, watching it twitch. Eventually I nudged it with my foot.

It mewed in response.

We laughed as Emeric knelt down and untied the string around the neck of the sack.

"Kittens," Varric said, while Carver just looked embarrassed.

There were four in the sack, and Emeric smiled as they nuzzled his hands.

"I think they like you," I said.

He sighed. "We're not allowed to have pets in the barracks. Anyway," he coughed, "did you find anything in the Emporium? Was it even open?"

"Yeah, I got a look at their ledger. Most of the names there looked fake. But," I held up my hand, "they made an awful lot of deliveries to a foundry in Lowtown. Hardly anyone else put down an address; Xenon said they didn't deliver often."

"Maybe they only deliver if it's worth their while. Even if this isn't what we're after, it bears investigating. Good work, Pup."

Varric and Carver smirked at me. Yeah well, I figure Emeric's old enough to have earned the right. And the fellas he punched were still stretched out cold on the pavement.

"What are we going to do about the kittens?" Varric asked. "I know someone who might take care of them."

"Let's take them back to Gamlen's house for now. We can worry about them tomorrow. It's on the way to the foundry district anyway." I was not about to show up in the middle of the night at Anders's door with a Templar in tow. That's the sort of prank that can get people killed.

Emeric's car was where we left it, and when we dropped the kittens off – to Gamlen's completely unsurprising disapproval – I telephoned Aveline. If something really was happening in the foundry, it would make things easier later to have a cop with us. I would have called Fenris as well, but the number he gave me was for a local shop he'd persuaded to take messages for him which wouldn't be open until the morning anyway.

We drank coffee and played with the kittens while we waited for Aveline. Horse was good around cats; he was well trained enough that he wouldn't chase them without a great deal of provocation. That didn't mean he wouldn't try to play with them though, despite being fifty times their size.

Ma watched us with a funny, affectionate smile on her face as we tried to think up names that were worse than the ones Anders would give them.

"Clawde."

"Good grief, Trip. You've been spending too much time with Anders."

"Catsanova," Emeric said after some deliberation.

"Wow, okay, you win."

"I bet they play these sorts of games all the time at the Templar barracks."

Emeric snorted, "Yeah, it's a laugh a minute."

When Aveline arrived she couldn't work out why we were so high-spirited.

"I thought you said this was serious, Trip."

"It is, I swear to you. Illegal goods, at the very least. Huge nest of murderous blood mages at the worst." I grinned at her.

Aveline sighed, "You will have your fun. I don't like being an accessory to break and enter, you know."

"I'll vouch for him," Emeric said.

"I'm not saying Trip needs to be vouched for, it's just... Oh, hell, let's get this over with."


	15. Human Remains Found in Lowtown

Things didn't seem as funny by the time we reached the foundry district. The place stank of sulphur and tar and Maker knows what else. This was the industrial heart of the Kirkwall, and the factories and warehouses stretched right down to the docks. Even this late at night, the wheels of industry kept turning.

There weren't many people on the streets. They really only filled up twice a day when the night shift and day shift workers swapped over. I figure this is what hell would look like. There was so much smoke in the air I couldn't see the stars, and the moon had turned a sickly yellow. Spend too long here and your throat starts burning. Get a job here and you're probably as good as dead by your fiftieth birthday.

The streets weren't properly named, and we squinted at soot-blackened signs and read numbers painted on the sides of huge square buildings roaring with mechanical life. Our ears rang with rhythmic mechanical thumping and whining.

It was a relief, if not exactly heartening, when we found ourselves in a quieter street. The warehouses were dark this late at night, and our footsteps echoed hollowly around us, making it sound like an army was keeping pace.

We halted in front of a foundry. It didn't have a number, or even a sign, although a few scraps of metal sticking up over the top suggested there might have been one once. We'd had to count to work out which of the nameless buildings around us was our destination, but I would have picked this one anyway. The windows facing the street were all cracked, or missing the glass completely and two brick chimneys prodded bluntly at the bruised sky.

It felt bad.

Horse whined unhappily.

I approached the rusting iron door and put my ear to it, but I heard nothing inside. I glanced around at the others, and at Aveline's nod I put my foot to it. It was bolted from the inside, but the rust had gotten to everything, and the bolt clattered to the floor as the door screeched unhappily open.

I wrinkled my nose. It smelled about as good as it looked. Aveline turned on her torch and we cautiously walked inside. Everyone who had guns had drawn them.

The place appeared completely abandoned. The rusting remains of conveyor belts and boilers filled the large open area on the ground floor. Rubbish crunched and rustled under our feet. Aveline swung the light around, and I saw a couple of rats make a break for the shadows.

Carver lowered his gun.

I nearly jumped out of my skin when Horse barked fiercely. The hair was standing up on the scruff of his neck, and he was staring up into the darkness. Aveline swung her light up, and I'd swear I saw a figure dart into the back rooms on the higher level.

"There!" Emeric was already running forward towards the rickety stairway.

"Halt, this is the police!" Aveline shouted. Even off-duty, she never forgets the words.

The entire floor erupted. The machinery shuddered, and spat out bones and shredded meat that knitted itself into blackened walking corpses. Shades clawed free of the floor, and I ducked as a boiler exploded, revealing a molten figure roaring with rage inside it.

I'd never seen anything like it. This place; bad things had happened here. They'd been happening for a long time, and all it took was a mage crazy enough to light the fuse to bring all those things screaming back into unholy life. Carver's gun spat and a corpse disintegrated. Them we could handle. Bianca was singing as well.

"Aveline, no!" I called out as the policewoman picked up a piece of broken boilerplate and held it in front of her like a shield as she ran at the rage demon. She battered it into the back of the broken boiler, and put all her considerable strength into keeping it there.

I darted in to help Emeric with the shades. I could feel him; Templars had lyrium in their blood most of the time and his was bubbling in his veins as he tried to suppress the magic around us.

"Trip!" Varric was backing up towards the door, reloading Bianca as a cluster of shades pursued him.

Horse leaped at one of them and tore its arm clean off. We were doing okay; shades were eventually busting like bags of garbage under my fists even without magic.

And then everything went wrong.

Aveline called out and I ducked as her makeshift shield, glowing red on one side, flew past my ear, pulverising a corpse as it landed. I turned and saw the demon swat her halfway across the room. Her teeth were bared in pain as she hit the floor, skidding a few feet.

Varric was against the wall now, Bianca keeping the shades at bay until he had to reload, but not able to damage them. We just couldn't hurt them. Not like this.

"We gotta get out!" I yelled as Carver hurried to Aveline's side to help her to her feet. I staggered as Emeric bumped into me.

"Pup," he said, and his knees buckled. I grabbed his arm and hauled him upright and tried to drag him away from the shades. He had blood soaking through the front of his suit, and he'd lost his hat at some point.

"Come on!" He wasn't a lightweight, and I hoped he could carry some of his own weight still.

"Pup!" he repeated himself, and his eyes bored into mine as he grabbed my arm with his free hand. He gave me a tired, knowing smile, "I was a Templar before you were born, kid. Let 'em have it."

"What?"

"Do what you gotta do to save your friends." I could see the rage demon advancing on Aveline and Carver, barely twitching as their bullets struck its molten skin. "My eyes are closed," Emeric said. "I swear it."

I nodded.

I summoned my magic.

I punched the air, and hurled the rage demon back into its boiler. I clenched my other fist and a shade in front of Varric imploded in a shower of filth. I turned to the group still advancing on Emeric and I snarling, my hands alight.

"Stay put," I hissed, and they slowed their advance as my magic dragged them to a standstill. Carver ran in to back me up, swinging his gun like a club, battering their blunt heads. I swayed and turned on my heel, digging deeper. I was throwing magic around the entire room, trying to control the battle on at least three fronts, and it was taking it out of me faster than I liked.

"Pup." Now I wasn't sure if Emeric was the one supporting me or the other way around. I felt him press something into my hand, and immediately I felt a rush of power. Lyrium gritted between my fingers as I crushed the shards. Templars aren't mages; they have to drink it or something, and it messes them up if they're not careful. I just had to reach out to it and take what it had to offer.

I wasn't used to it. Father had made sure Bethany and I had touched lyrium before, so we could recognise it, but it was far too expensive to use on a regular basis.

Emeric staggered out of my way as I rode the wave of power, directing it towards the demons and shades, and letting it flow. I could crush them against the floor and hurl them away from my friends who were swapping guns for bigger bits of machinery to destroy the creatures while they were immobile.

I started pulling the boiler back together, squeezing it around the rage demon.

Strong, sinewy arms wrapped around my waist, and I felt a pair of lips brush the back of my neck.

"Your magic," a familiar voice told me, warm with affection, "I don't mind if it's your magic. If it's you."

Fenris?

"What a lousy imitation," I growled. I turned and punched the creature behind me, knocking her right on her behind. Her mouth opened and shut as I pressed my attack before she could find her clawed feet. She fell to the ground and I put my foot, and then all my weight, on her neck.

Silence.

"Aveline?"

"I'm fine. I'll be fine." She sounded like she was speaking through gritted teeth.

Emeric was sitting on the floor, and we gathered around him, Aveline wincing and favouring one side. Carver stretched out a hand and helped the Templar to his feet.

"Thank you," he said, looking at me. "You did good, Pup. You've got a lot of control. I'll keep my word, don't worry." He held out his bloodied hand and I shook it. "I guess I'm not as young as I used to be." Despite all the blood, he waved away any help.

Horse bounded up the stairs, and stopped at the top where I'd first seen the movement. He growled. When we followed him up we found our second sack for the evening.

"I don't think this one will have kittens in it," Varric said sombrely. Something red and sticky was soaking through the burlap. "Not healthy kittens, anyway." We had a quick look around for whoever was up here, but they had obviously long gone. To be honest, I was kind of relieved.

I knelt down and cautiously undid the sack.

I couldn't say exactly what was in the sack. I'm not a butcher or a doctor. But right on top of the glistening mass was a pale, slender hand. I shuddered and looked away, suddenly fighting to hang on to my dinner.

"Hell," I choked. "Get the cops. We've got our evidence."

* * *

><p>We had to wait for what seemed like hours. We were interviewed by a police detective, and Aveline and Emeric were taken to hospital. By the time we finally trudged home, it was starting to get light in the east. Varric said he was going to shut his shop today and get some sleep.<p>

I didn't have that luxury.

Carver went to bed, and I had a bath and a shave and some coffee. I waited until nine and then gave Ghyslain a call.

I accompanied Ghyslain to the station and while he identified the ring that had been found on the hand I enquired after Aveline. Two cracked ribs, a lot of bruising and mild concussion was the diagnosis, and Emeric was still in surgery, getting the tears in his arms and chest sewn back together. It had been a rough night.

I hung back in the waiting room until Ghyslain reappeared.

He took a deep, shaky breath, "So she's gone."

"That was her ring?" I asked. He nodded and I refrained from telling Ghyslain that he was lucky there was anything left to identify her with at all.

The circle of gold was sitting on his palm, and he stared at it. "I don't want it," he said suddenly.

"What?"

"Who knows what her family will think with all of this. You take it." So saying, he shoved it at me and in my surprise I took it. Without another word he hurried from the room.

I gaped. I stared down at all that was left of Ninette de Carrac and felt like an utter wretch. I knew it wasn't really my fault, and that she was probably dead before I even knew her name, but I felt like a failure. And now I had her ring. What in the world was I supposed to do? Pawn it?

I didn't hock it. I put it in my pocket and with heart like lead, I walked to the Rose. I darted through the crowd without seeing it, the charms of Hightown completely lost on me today. This wasn't how this job was supposed to be.

I wasn't gonna quit, hell with that, but I today felt a lot older and a bit wiser.

I told Madam Lusine that I needed to see Jethann in private.

"Are you intending to pay this time?" she asked.

I shook my head, "This won't take long. This is important."

"He's working right now." She must have seen something in my expression, because she told me to wait, and directed me to a table in the corner of the room.

I didn't really want to see Jethann again, not so soon anyway and certainly not under these circumstances.

But I keep my promises.

I stared unseeing at the tabletop and only looked up when I heard the chair scrape as Jethann sat opposite me.

"You're here about Ninette?" he asked cautiously.

"Yeah. She's dead, Jethann. Someone killed her. I'm sorry." I dunno how you're meant to say things like this. I couldn't think of anything better than the blunt truth. I didn't meet Jethann's eyes, but I heard his sharp, grief-struck intake of breath.

"But why? She was a lovely-"

"She wasn't the only one," I said. "I don't think it was personal."

"That doesn't make it any better!"

"I know!" I shook my head. I wasn't here to shout at him. "Here," I fumbled out the ring, "her husband didn't want it." I slid it across the table to him.

Jethann rested his fingers on it, but didn't pick it up, "You're giving this to me?"

"You deserve it more than Ghyslain does. I'd imagine she'd want you to have it."

"I," his fingers closed around the ring, "I'm sorry, I have to go." I heard his voice break as he fled. I watched him push his way through the crowd and into the back rooms, his head bowed.

A woman started laughing at a nearby table at something her companion had whispered in her ear.

I fled too. I didn't want to be here.

I didn't want to be anywhere. I could go home but Carver was probably asleep or pretending to be, and Ma would be out at the shop. I didn't know where I wanted to go, and so I wandered aimlessly, smoking and staring at things in shop windows without really seeing them. I walked until I was hungry, and then I stopped at a bakery and ate until I wasn't, and then I started walking again.

I found myself standing outside of a gutted house. Scraps of police tape still fluttered from the open doorway.

He probably wasn't in.

He probably didn't care, even if he was.

This was a terrible idea.

I trudged up the path and stepped over the charred remains of a welcome mat.

"Fenris? You home? It's Trip."


	16. Meredith: Lowtown Killings Blood Magic

"Do you need me for something?" Fenris asked as he appeared at the top of the stairway. He was without his coat and hat, and a cigarette smouldered between his fingers.

"No, not right now. Just visiting." I shrugged. "I was in the area."

If he thought this was strange he didn't show it. He nodded and waved me up.

Again I was struck by the lack of any personal belongings. He'd opened the windows at least, and the natural light improved the room immensely, but I saw no books, no pictures, nothing but a spare pair of shoes under the bed, and his coat and hat thrown over the back of a chair.

"No one's come to toss you out yet?" I asked curiously as he sat back down at the little table near the fireplace. There was a plate with a few crumbs on it, and I supposed the fire hadn't reached the kitchen. The place was probably better appointed than my own.

Fenris had laid out his guns, and was disassembling and cleaning them with quick efficient movements that suggested he could do this in his sleep if he wanted to. The room smelled faintly of oil.

"There have been people," he said with a faint smile. "Policemen and the like. I'd hear them coming and I'd leave out the back until they were gone."

Remove the man himself and no one would know anyone was living here. I tossed my coat and hat over the corner of a set of drawers and sat in the only other chair in the room.

"Someone's going to come and fix this place up eventually though."

"I'll worry about it then. I like it here."

"Beats living with Gamlen," I conceded.

We sat in silence for a while.

"Have you seen the papers today?" I asked.

"No."

"Oh, well. Aveline's in hospital." He stopped working for a moment and looked at me. I reassured him, "She'll be all right. Just cracked ribs, I think."

And then I told him the whole story. Well, most of it. There were things he didn't need to know about Jethann, or me. He listened impassively until I was done.

"Do you think Emeric will keep his word?" he asked.

I glanced at him in surprise. I was quite prepared for a tirade about blood magic. I suspected one was still on the way, but he'd asked about my freedom first. I was touched.

"Well, we won't know for sure until he's out of hospital, but I think so. A man of his word, as they say."

Fenris frowned and squinted down the chambers of his revolver, "You trust people too easily. This man is a Templar and you are an apostate. His entire life has been dedicated to hunting people like you down." He looked away from his weapon and met my eyes, "Surely your father taught you better than this."

"I don't just trust people, Fenris. I trust my instincts about people. If I didn't, I wouldn't be able to trust anyone and I'd be a paranoid wreck with no friends."

"I see."

"That's why I trust you," I added. "You have to admit, you're not a safe bet on the face of it either."

He didn't answer for a little while.

"I'm sorry I wasn't there," he said eventually.

"I am too," I said. "But you're not easy to get hold of."

Fenris frowned and silence descended. He seemed to have forgotten about the blood magic, at least for now. Fenris worked fast, and I watched his lyrium-laced fingers dance over the weapons. Everything he did was fascinating, but I found myself wondering what else he did; surely he didn't just clean his guns all day.

"Lemmie ask you something," I said. "When you worked for the Imperium." His eyes flicked up from his work, although his hands didn't stop moving, "What did you do with your time when you weren't killing people or acting as a lyrium battery?"

He stopped.

He stared down at the gun in his hands, and gently put it back down on the table. His fingers curled into fists, and he said in a strained voice, "What else would you have me do? You have had a lifetime of, of living. I walk. I see what easy targets people make when they stroll down the street. I look for exits in every building I enter. Everything I touch becomes a weapon. And if I don't do these things, I know Denarius will snatch me back, and he will never let me escape again."

"Never say never. You have friends who'd come after you," I declared.

Fenris almost laughed he was so surprised. "You?" He asked incredulously. "You'd travel to the Tevinter Imperium? Face their secret service?"

"I'd punch the Maker Himself if I had to." I was on a roll. Fenris was staring at me with an expression I couldn't read; I don't think I'd seen it on his face before. "Besides, I'm a mage, remember? I can do anything."

"I think," Fenris said carefully, "I almost believe you. I believe you'd try, at least. And you'd drag everyone else along; they'd follow you without question." A thoughtful look, "You have power over people, Trip."

"It's not like I do it on purpose."

"I know," he forestalled my slightly offended reaction with a faint smile. "I'm not mistaking you for Denarius." He picked up his gun again, and started slotting it back together.

"If I ever meet that son of a bitch, I'm going to hurt him."

"I don't wish to speak further of him," Fenris said shortly. "So what would you have me do?"

"Huh? Right now?" A couple of inappropriate things crossed my mind.

"Instead of this," he gestured at the table.

"Well you don't have to go crazy or nothing. I've an idea, come over for dinner sometime."

"At your house?" he looked at me with surprise.

"Well, who else's house am I gonna invite you to? Everyone else has visited at least once, although I don't think Merrill likes human cooking if I'm honest. She hardly ate anything."

"Won't your mother object?"

"Why?"

"I don't think I made a good first impression."

"All the more reason to make a good second one. Believe me, if she held a grudge against everyone who's given me a black eye, well, Carver would be on the streets. She likes you," I exaggerated slightly. "Just let us know when it's convenient." So I could make sure Anders didn't show up at the same time. I wanted Fenris to have a pleasant experience, after all.

"I…" he smiled a bit helplessly, "thank you, Trip."

"Thank you," I said solemnly.

"Why are you thanking me?"

"Because you've helped me." I smiled ruefully at him, "You've reminded me I'm not totally useless. You said it yourself. People follow me. And last night I led my friends into- well, you know what was there. If Emeric hadn't given me his word- I don't know what would have happened. This isn't a game anymore."

Fenris started packing away his rags and oil, "What would you have done then?" he asked.

"I would have told Carver to grab Aveline and I would have grabbed Emeric and made a break for it. We weren't dead on our feet; it probably would have worked. But there would have been more injuries."

"You could have killed the Templar. You've killed them before."

"No-murder policy, Fenris. Remember?"

"You will not compromise then, under any circumstances? I don't understand." He was looking at me intently, _trying_ to understand.

"I didn't ask to be a mage, but I will take responsibility for it. Compromising on one's own rules is weakness. Weakness is what the demons seize on."

"In Tevinter," Fenris said slowly, "demons serve the state. Magisters summon them deliberately."

"Isn't that dangerous? I mean, just because they're Magisters doesn't mean the demons won't try to turn them into abominations."

"It happens. Regularly. If a Magister falls, he was weak, obviously, and didn't deserve his position. If others die in the process, well, Tevinter has endless workers and endless would-be Magisters."

"Messed up."

"I believed what they said, that summoning demons was a sign of a mage's strength of will and power." He gazed into my eyes, "Now I have met you, I am not so sure."

"Thank you, Fenris. Your confidence in me means a lot." I smiled at him.

He dropped his gaze and cleared his throat, "So you've never been tempted by demons?"

"Every time I'm in trouble they give it a go. So, regularly."

"That's not what I-"

"I know what you're asking. You want to know if they ever had a shot at succeeding. Once. I was about twelve. I scared myself half to death."

_The screaming cattle, the burning grass, and my fingers blistering as I clutched the shotgun._

"Ugh." I pinched the bridge of my nose.

"I apologise. I did not intend to upset you. Perhaps I'm not the best person to come to after all."

I managed a grin I imagine was rather sickly, "Well, you can certainly take my mind off things. And set it on worse things."

"I've not had a great deal of practice being a host. Or a friend."

"You'll get the hang of it, Fenris."

"Ah, I have some tea downstairs. Would you like some?"

"See, it's not that difficult. That's the sort of thing Ma would do to cheer me up. Probably offer flapjacks and a cuddle as well."

Fenris's brows knitted in a worried frown, "I don't know how to … make flapjacks."

He looked so indescribably awkward I chuckled. "Tea is fine. Thank you."

I heard him pad quietly downstairs, and I leaned back in my chair.

* * *

><p>I awoke to see afternoon sunlight lighting up the wall of the building opposite Fenris's windows. Of Fenris himself there was no sign. I had a crick in my neck, and there was a cold mug of tea on the table next to me. Fenris had draped my coat over me as well, tucking it in around my shoulders, and I found myself smiling.<p>

"Some host," I muttered.

I yawned and collected my hat. There didn't seem to be any point in hanging around. When I got home Carver was sitting in my chair reading my comics. Ma heard me turfing him out and she walked into my office with a puzzled expression.

"There you are, Trip."

"Were you looking for me?" I asked.

"No, but that elf came by earlier. Fenris. He asked me very nicely if I was sure he was allowed to come over for dinner."

How like Fenris to double check. "I hope you said yes."

"Well, of course. You know your friends are always welcome here. I asked him if he knew where you were, and he said you were sleeping peacefully."

"Peacefully? I'd like to see him sleep on those chairs." I tidied up the pile of comics. Eventually I would file them away in the cabinet. It wasn't like my case files took up a lot of room. "So he is coming over then?"

"He said he would."

I made a fist, "Yes! Progress at last. He's from Tevinter," I explained to Ma, "and he's nervous about making friends."

"Well," Ma smiled at me, "he couldn't make a better one than you."

She turned to go, "Oh, and Anders collected the kittens earlier. He swears he's going to try and find homes for them rather than keeping them at his clinic." Ma and I exchanged a glance. We knew there was a fat chance of that happening. At least his new pets would keep him occupied for the evening.

I wasted time in my office, glancing at the door and then at the clock every few minutes. Which didn't make Fenris show up any earlier.

But he did eventually show up. With a bottle of wine no less.

"Where did you get this?" I asked turning it around in my hands so I could read the label.

"There's a cellar under my house. There's quite a collect-"

"Shh! Don't spread it around. And not just 'cause it ain't legal. If word gets out you'll find yourself playing host to everyone."

Fenris looked amused. I went back into the kitchen to show Ma the bottle and tell her that our guest had arrived. When I returned to my office, Fenris quickly closed one of the comics sitting on my desk with a guilty look.

"You can have 'em if you like," I told him. "I've already read them all."

He frowned, to my bemusement. I dunno why it was such a difficult offer.

"What am I supposed to do with them?" he asked eventually.

"Uh. Read them? You don't have to if you don't want to, I won't be offended or nothing. You just seemed interested enough to have a look."

"I want to," Fenris said with difficulty, his head bowed. "I don't know how."

"Huh?"

"I'll take them," he said firmly. I still wasn't sure why it was such a big deal; I guess he wasn't used to being offered things. I'd have to get him some more presents, I thought. When I could afford them.

I could hear Ma setting the table, and Carver asking about the wine in the other room. Someone would come and fetch us soon.

It was Gamlen, of all people. He poked his head into the room and actually managed a smile. "Well, come on, food's getting cold. And that wine's not going to wait either. You finally made a friend that's worth a damn, Trip. Pity more of them don't bring wine rather than kittens."

"Yes, yes. Fenris, Uncle Gamlen. Uncle, this is Fenris."

We walked into the apartment and I barely heard Fenris's quiet, "Thank you," at my back.


	17. Triumph! Deeproads Expedition Returns!

Fenris didn't much like Gamlen, probably because Gamlen was trying to be nice to him only because he was hoping for more wine, so he never became a regular visitor at my house. Nevertheless, he never turned down the offer when I specifically invited him. I figured there was no rush in turning Fenris into some sort of social butterfly. He visited Varric too; they got on well, although Varric got on well with everybody.

Emeric was in hospital for a few weeks, and he scared the hell out of me by sending one of his browncoat friends around with some money, some for my services and some for taking care of the kittens. I passed the latter sum on to Anders, who was completely baffled when he discovered the source. It did, however, give him an excuse to keep the kittens.

Bartrand's expedition returned, mostly intact. The papers were real excited about it, but Varric wasn't. He steered clear of all the fanfare, and only went to talk to his brother once the press had cleared away. They didn't bring back any solid gold diamonds, but there were some nice pictures in the paper of some fancy dwarven and darkspawn artefacts. You know, urns and coins and things like that.

I asked Varric if his brother got him a souvenir, but he just scowled and said Bartrand had given him a headache instead. Varric wasn't happy about something, but he didn't want to talk about it. At a guess, I'd say his brother owed him money; the university only financed part of the expedition, after all.

Anders tried to get us to go along to the strikers' marches. Carver and I went a couple of times, mainly to see if it was any fun, but it was mostly dour looking miners and foundry workers who were marching. I sympathised, right, it ain't like I'm rolling in cash myself, but as I told Anders, I'm self employed and business owner. If anything, he should be marching against me.

He gave me some more pamphlets.

At least he was getting out more.

Fenris occasionally turned up at our gatherings at the Hanged Man, although more than once he spotted Anders, shrugged, and walked right back out again without a second glance. Fella was cold when he wanted to be, but to be honest it beat listening to them arguing.

One evening, we were at our usual table. Aveline was on duty and Merrill was at some sort of feminist consciousness raising meeting so we were having a boys' night. Which made our table a bit lonely, since there were only four of us.

Varric was in a better mood at least, and he even bought us a round as we listened to the music and smoked and talked, like we usually did.

"He gave you money for kittens, Anders. He's all right." Carver had grown somewhat attached to Emeric. Even visited him in hospital once. I think he was looking for a father figure who wasn't a mage.

"I'm not saying they're all horrible people. They just do horrible things with the best intentions."

"So this fella comes in, and he knows I know people," Varric was explaining. "And he says he's written something that will make us both a fortune."

"You get this sort of thing a lot?"

"At least twice a month. Anyway."

"Are you saying you think he, what, tortures the mages he looked after?"

"It's the system that's to blame, but that doesn't mean we shouldn't fight it."

"So I got a free half hour, I tell him I'll look it over. And he sits there, watching me read."

"If the Templars helped mages-"

"And it was one of these war stories, you know. Beating up darkspawn, rescuing busty Fereldan maidens behind enemy lines-"

"Look, he knows about Trip, but he hasn't said a word."

"What do you want me to do, Carver? Invite him over for tea and tranquillity?"

"And so I asked him, 'What's a speed gryphon?'"

And then our table fell silent.

A woman had entered the room. Ours wasn't the only table going still. She was wearing a fringed shift dress that didn't quite reach her knees. Feathers and gems glittered in her wavy brown hair, and gold gleamed around her neck. She had the kind of figure that would cause accidents, and she sashayed over to the bar like she knew it, hips swinging.

She tossed her hair and a smile over her shoulder, and waved over the barman.

"I haven't seen her around before," Varric said. "I'm pretty sure I would have remembered."

She didn't remain on her own for long. Hell, I was trying to work up the nerve to walk over myself, when a bunch of fellas strolled up. The acted like they knew her; she certainly seemed to recognise them.

Her lips twisted into a sneer. It obviously wasn't a happy reunion. I could see fists bunching, and feel the electricity of an imminent fight.

I was half out of my seat when I felt Varric's hand on my arm.

"Easy, Hero," he said. "The bouncers here don't need amateur intervention. Besides," he said with a grin, "I'd bet you twenty silver the lady can take care of herself."

When one of them made a grab for her she turned and threw her drink into his eyes – given what's in the Hanged Man's cocktails, she probably blinded him – and drove her knee into the crotch of another fella. She was smaller though, and a third pinned her arms from behind. I was still standing so I saw her rake her heel down his shin and then smack the back of her head into his nose.

She had them all stumbling away from her and bleeding in about sixteen seconds. Her cool gaze swept the crowd, including our table, and she rolled her eyes before strolling out ahead of the bouncers, who were rapidly closing in to contain the trouble. Far too late as she walked right out ahead of them.

I sank back into my seat.

"What did we just see?" Anders asked.

"Hey!" Carver waved his hand in front of my eyes, "Trip? Trip!"

"What?"

"I know you, big brother. She's trouble; steer clear. Remember that lady in the motor car? You would have sold her the farm if I hadn't told on you."

"I was twelve, and the farm wasn't mine to sell anyway."

"You have lousy taste in dolls. Even that elf would be a better choice."

"What elf?" Anders asked.

I raised my eyebrows at Carver, wondering if he'd forgotten our brothers' agreement.

"Nothing," he muttered.

"Relax already," I said. "She's gone, and it ain't like any of us is likely to see her again."

I really should know by now; trouble finds me.

* * *

><p>And it didn't take all that long.<p>

The next day I was in my office considering whether or not I should remind Fenris about the practice fights he suggested, when Trouble Herself walked right in my door.

She wasn't wearing the same dress, but I still caught a view of shapely calves and ankles as she shrugged off her coat. She regarded me with amber eyes alight with curiosity.

"Hello," I said.

"Hello." She sounded amused. "You are open, aren't you? This is the detective agency, isn't it?"

"Yeah. Sorry, please have a seat. Let me get your coat."

I could smell her perfume as I hung her coat up on the stand near the door, trying to collect my wits. When I turned around she'd settled in the chair across from my desk and crossed her legs. So much for collecting my wits.

"I'm Trip Hawke," I told her.

"My name is Isabela." No second name appeared to be forthcoming.

I smiled and sat back down as she took a cigarette out of a silver case. "How can I help you, Isabela? You didn't look like you needed any help last night."

She raised her eyebrows slightly, "I _thought_ you looked familiar. You were ready to rush to my aid, weren't you?" She leaned forward and smiled at me. I managed to meet her eyes. "It's rare to find chivalry in this day and age. I suppose I shouldn't be surprised to see you in a profession like this."

"I do what I can."

"You got a light, Trip?"

I offered her one, and she leaned forward to accept it while I was presented with the kind of view it would take a man a week to appreciate properly.

She leant back in the chair and blew smoke at the ceiling. "I'm in trouble, and I need help," she said. "From someone who isn't the law."

"Why don't you tell me what you need, and I'll tell you if I'm willing to help out."

"I'm being hunted," she said flatly. "By a man." She waited a few seconds and favoured me with an amused look, "No smart remark?"

"It seemed a bit superfluous."

"His name is Castillon. He's, let's say he's well-connected. He wants me dead, and he will stop at nothing to get what he wants."

"Why does he want you dead?"

Her gaze slid to the floor, "He's my husband, although he was never a very good one. When he found out I had a lover he flew into a rage and killed him." She blinked and stubbed out her cigarette. "Now he's after me. I've been running for weeks now. But the time has come to stop." She stared into my eyes.

"You need a bodyguard, not a detective."

"There's more. I've got plan for getting Castillon out of my hair for good. I've heard that his lawyer, Hayder, is in town. He must be planning to expand his business into Kirkwall and if I can get some proof, I can blackmail him into leaving me alone. If there's one thing he cares about more than his pride it's his business."

"You want me to find Hayder?"

"Exactly," she nodded. "And once you find him, I'm going to need some help getting access to his papers. He's a gangster, so it's not really like stealing. Not in the ordinary sense." She beamed encouragingly.

This was sounding less like a job and more like one of the pulp novels Varric sold downstairs.

"Please," she said, "I've got nowhere else to turn, and no other options. The next lot of thugs that come after me could be carrying guns."

But it wasn't like I was going to start turning down beautiful women asking for my help. "Twenty-five silver a day, plus expenses. I'll track down Hayder for you."

"I knew I could rely on a man like you."

"In the meantime, please take care of yourself. Where can I get in contact with you?"

"You know, I rather liked that juice joint. You'll find me at the Hanged Man. For any reason." She took fifty silver from her purse and handed it to me.

Shit. She was just my type. And to be honest, I was kind of relieved that she was _still_ my type. Still, my wits weren't so addled that I didn't think there was more to her story that she was letting on.

But this wouldn't be the first time a client has tried to keep things from me.

Once she'd gone, I went downstairs to tell Varric what had happened.

"What do you think?" I asked, once I'd told my story.

"I think you have all the luck. I don't get dolls like that coming in here to ask me to find a first-edition Genitivi."

"Do any of the names she mentioned mean anything to you?"

"No, but if she is from Rivain that don't mean much. Gang leadership changes every six months there. I'm outta touch."

"Alright, thanks Varric." I turned to leave.

"You watch your back, Trip."

I intended to. All I had was a name, but that was all I needed. It was easy. It was too easy. The first contact I talked to – one of Lowtown's information traders – knew all about Hayder. In fact, Hayder had contacted her.

Hayder had arrived in Kirkwall a couple of days ago, and had put word out on the street; he was looking for a woman named Isabela. I wasn't sure if this backed up Isabela's story or not. At least I now knew where Hayder was staying; a swanky hotel in Hightown.

But I wasn't about to return to my client just yet.

I took the cable-car uptown, and loitered around the hotel for a while. You gotta pick the right doorman to get information. The nervous and the honest just clam up. But I had twenty-five silver worth of 'expenses' to spend on getting one to open up.

By the time I had Hayder's room number and description, I almost missed him leaving. He was a stocky fella with pasty skin, and he had muscle with him too. I splurged on a taxi and tailed him to the Rose. He wasn't there for pleasure; of if he was he was quick about it, because he only spent about fifteen minutes inside before heading out again.

I spent the rest of the afternoon criss-crossing Hightown. It didn't look like Hayder was making any major deals; none of the places he went to were members-only or anything like that, but I was pretty sure he was looking for someone. He'd check a place out, talk to the staff, and then leave again.

I was getting sick of running around, and so, once he'd returned to the hotel, I gave him a call. From one of the public lines in a soda place in Hightown.

"Word is you're looking for someone named Isabela," I said, as soon as the hotel switchboard put me through.

"Yes, perhaps. Who is this?"

"An interested party. How much is she worth to you?"

"I don't want to _buy_ her, my mysterious friend. I want to talk to her."

"Does she want to talk to you?"

"She should. We both have things that we need. Tell her to meet me at the Chantry square in Hightown at six o'clock." He hung up.

I ordered a soda.


	18. Starkhaven Circle Burns

A/N: Apologies for the delay; your humble scribe has been ill. Hopefully normal service will now resume.

* * *

><p>It was starting to get dark by the time I got back to Lowtown. Normally it would still be a bit early for the usual crowd to show up at the Hanged Man, but by the time I arrived the place was jumping. There were extra guys on the door, and an air of excitement even among the boozed up regulars who rarely looked up from their drinks to do more than order another round.<p>

The only reason I could see for all of this was a couple of workmen who were hastily painting a sign to prop up near the entrance indicating that sultry and exotic songstress Mimi la Roux was performing that night, straight from a series of successful shows in Antiva.

The name was vaguely familiar. I don't really keep up with singers. If I'd seen Varric I would have asked him about it, but it was still a bit early for him as well.

I figured Isabela wouldn't be hard to find. She didn't strike me as the kind of doll who'd park herself out of the way in a corner somewhere unnoticed. But a quick circuit of place revealed no sign of her. I went up to the bar, and asked if anyone had left any messages. The bar at the Hanged Man was not the sort of place one could reliably leave messages, but I didn't have any other ideas.

To my surprise, my name got a reaction.

"Mimi's expecting you," the barkeep said. "Dressing room three."

I didn't argue. I'd never been behind the stage at the Hanged Man before, or behind many stages, really. It was pretty quiet; the band hadn't even arrived yet. If no one had told them about their new star attraction, they were in for a surprise.

The dressing rooms looked kinda like water closets to me, with numbers painted roughly on the doors.

I knocked on number three.

"Oui? Who ees it?"

"Trip Hawke."

"Come in, come in. It ees unlocked." I was pretty sure these doors didn't have locks.

The room wasn't much bigger than a closet, but the Hanged Man had at least made an effort to make their new star feel welcome. There was a printed silk screen in the corner of the room, and a bunch of flowers in a vase on the dressing table. And someone had even given it a sweep out – at least, I didn't see any rat droppings in the corners.

I wasn't really surprised to see Isabela smiling smugly at me as she tilted her head and knocked back another shot of the Hanged Man's finest. She was wearing a silk dressing gown, and not much else that I could see. I shut the door behind me and put my back to it. Doing anything else would have invaded her personal space in the tiny room.

"Ah, my knight in a fedora returns. Any news?"

I nodded, "I got Hayder's room number. I've been tailing him all afternoon. You wanna know what he was up to?"

"Ooh, don't keep me in suspense."

"He's looking for you."

Her smile faded, "Damn, they found me faster than I expected. Castillon must have told him I was here."

"Maybe." I still wasn't convinced of any of her story. "I gave him a call."

She looked at me sharply, "What did you say?"

"Not much. _He_ said he wanted to talk to you. And that you should want to talk to him."

"Well that's bull, I don't." She tossed her hair.

"Hey, I'm just the messenger. He said he'd meet you at the Chantry Square at six."

She thought about it for a moment and then smiled, "You are a clever boy. What time is it?" She glanced at a man's pocket watch she had sitting on the table; somehow I doubted she was the legitimate owner. "We'd better hurry. Now we know where he'll be at six, we can get into his room and look for those papers."

She got to her feet and flashed me a smile as she drifted around behind the screen. "Just give me two minutes."

I folded my arms as she tossed the robe over the top of the screen and I tried to ignore the rustling of cloth as she wriggled into what turned out to be another scandalous dress. She fluffed her hair in the mirror, collected the watch, and lit a cigarette.

"You got a motor, Trip?"

"I'm afraid I'll have to disappoint you on that one."

"Oh well, I'm sure you'll make up for it later. Cable cars are still fun. You bump into all sorts of interesting people when they go around corners." She winked.

I grinned. It was very easy to get drawn into her pace.

The cable car was nearly empty, and Isabela didn't get to bump into anyone on the way back to Hightown. She had me point out all the landmarks and gazed about like she was on holiday. Everywhere she went, she relished male attention, and she got plenty of it. I guessed she must be one of those modern women. Flappers, they call them.

I wondered what Merrill would make of her.

She took my arm as we approached the hotel, the Chantry chiming a quarter to six in the distance.

"What are you planning on doing? Picking the lock?" I asked, as the doorman ushered us in, his gaze sweeping Isabela's backside as we passed.

"Where's the fun in that?" Isabela asked. "Why tinker with a machine when you can play with a person?"

I felt distinctly shabby in my cheap suit. The staff didn't know quite what to make of us; Isabela seemed so much at home they weren't going to throw us out immediately, but we weren't the sort of clientele they usually catered for. I could hear a waltz being played in the big dining room off from the lobby and when a middle-aged dwarf couple entered I caught a glimpse of chandeliers and starched tablecloths.

"We're still early," Isabela said. "Let's hit the bar first."

"This isn't the Hanged Man," I warned her, "you're not going to get anything stronger than soda here."

She sighed as she perched on one of the barstools, "What the hell are the Free Marches thinking, banning booze? It's unnatural. Even the Qunari don't do that." She grumpily ordered us drinks, and charged them to Hayder's room.

We didn't get a chance to drink them though. She was still complaining about prohibition when her hand caught the tall glass and sent both it and its contents all over the carpet.

"Aw hell! I'm so sorry." Her eyes were huge as she apologised to the barman and offered to pay for the glass and generally embarrassed the poor fella. An elf showed up pretty soon with a mop and Isabela apologised to her too, and insisted on tipping her. The elf was grateful, and I was puzzled. At least until Isabela took my arm again and led me back out of the bar, where upon she produced a set of room keys with a flourish and declared that the drink had splashed on her dress and she wanted to change before dinner.

We were completely silent in the lift. I think the operator assumed we'd had a fight, because he gave me a sympathetic look as we stepped out onto Hayder's floor.

"They guard the keys behind the front desk as if they were diamonds, and send cleaners around every floor with duplicates." She shook the key ring, "I bet we could start so much trouble with this."

"We're meant to be getting you out of trouble, remember?"

"Oh, you're no fun. Well, it's exactly six. Let's see what's in Hayder's room."

Hayder was in Hayder's room.

He was flanked by his muscle and as soon as we stepped into the room the a couple more guys appeared from the room opposite. It was very nicely sprung trap.

"Ah, Isabela, right on time." Hayder glanced at me, "And you must be the mysterious caller."

I inclined my head.

"Oh fine, you got me. Say whatever you have to," Isabela said, placing a hand on her hip.

"You're too predictable, my dear. You know what I'm going to say. Where is the formula?"

"I don't have it. I lost it," Isabela said through her teeth.

"What formula?" I asked.

Hayder grinned at me, "Oh, the lovely Isabela didn't tell you the whole story? Why don't you tell him, Isabela?"

She sighed, "Look, I used to work for Castillon. That's all." Isabela narrowed her eyes at Hayder.

"You lost the cargo," Hayder shook his finger at her, "and then you stole the formula. Castillon merely wants what is rightfully his."

"Legitimately stolen property," I said, amused. "So is Castillon actually your husband?"

Hayder burst out laughing at that. "Ah, what stories she tells. Isabela's husband is long dead, like so many of the men she has had dance to her tune." I didn't miss the warning in his tone.

"I didn't kill him!" she protested.

"Your sordid past is not what we were discussing. Where is the formula?"

"I told you, I lost it. Castillon will just have to do without."

"You lost it, just like you lost the man you were supposed to be escorting."

"It wasn't an escort, it was a kidnapping!"

"That thing was worth a fortune! And you let him disappear. You made Castillon look very bad."

"How he looks isn't my problem."

"And now the formula has gone too. Castillon won't be very happy to hear that."

"Well, he won't hear it from me," I said.

"Of course not," he inclined his head politely, "you may go."

I shrugged at Isabela and walked to the door. The guys there parted to let me through. Amateurs. I punched one in the neck and drove my knee into the second one's stomach as he was going for his weapon. I twisted his wrist until he dropped it. A gun went off in the room behind me, but only once. I heard the thump of a body hitting the floor.

When I turned back to the room, Hayder was slumped in his chair, and his bodyguard was laid out on the floor; it was the latter who had fired the shot, and I could smell cordite. Both of them were sporting throwing knives in their necks.

Isabela picked her way over to them, and I stared as she retrieved the knives and hiked up her skirt to slide them back into the sheaths in her garter. I managed to count three, despite the flash of smooth brown thigh distracting me, and guessed she had another set on her left leg.

She smiled at me and joined me in the doorway, "You clever thing, I thought you were going to sell me out." She grabbed my hand and pulled me down the hallway. "We have to get out of here; the house detectives will be here any moment."

I wasn't going to argue. My adversaries were still alive, but I didn't think Hayder was.

We ignored the elevator and hurried out onto the fire escape, Isabela's shoes clattering on the bare iron. We were almost at the ground floor; I could see people dancing in the dining area just below us, when Isabela pulled me to a stop.

"This is good enough," she said with a grin, slightly out of breath. "Don't let the fun stop now; show me what you got."

I wasn't really surprised when she wrapped her arms around my neck and pressed her lips against mine.

She smelled of smoke and perfume and unspoken promises the taste of her lips went straight to my head, like foreign wine.

She was one of the hottest dolls I'd ever had the pleasure of petting, and I slid my hands down her back, feeling the chill autumn breeze – or perhaps my own efforts – raise goosebumps all down her spine. She was pressed against me, her warm weight obliging me to use the iron railing to keep us both on our feet.

Given she was rubbing up against me like a cat my knees were going weak anyway, and if she kept snuggling up for much longer I wouldn't be able to decently appear in public.

She'd taken her own challenge seriously; we fought for the right to plunder the other's mouth, and she made happy little purring sounds that bypassed rational thinking.

I'd almost forgotten why the hell we were out there and jumped when a couple of fellas clattered down the stairs from above.

Isabela pulled herself away from me with a ladylike yelp. I felt bereft.

"You said no one would come out here!" she protested accusingly, as we stood aside for the men. "This is the second lot. What kind of fire escape is this?"

I shrugged and grinned. "Maybe there's a fire?"

She laughed and took my arm, "You're such a card. Let's go in, I'm getting cold." She hugged herself closer to my arm. "And you're not a bad kisser either," she added in a lower tone.

"You should see what else I'm good at."

"Oh, I intend to."

We bantered as we made our way through the dancers towards the doors to the lobby.

"Ooh, that's a lovely coat. I'll meet you out front." Isabela darted off through the crowd.

I wasn't particularly surprised when she rejoined me to see that she was wearing said coat. "Just my size too," she said cheerfully. We watched as a police car pulled up, the floor manager hurrying down to meet it. He didn't look happy; hotels who hosted murders tended to do bad business.

"Is your life always this exciting?" she asked, taking my arm again.

"Actually, yeah, pretty much. Is yours?"

"Not all the time, but I try."

"Did you really lose the formula? Or was that a story as well."

"If I had it, I'd give it to him, just to get him off my back. It's no use to me. And that's the true story, I swear."

"I believe you, thousands wouldn't."

She chuckled. "I like you. You really helped me out, you know? I guess I was right about you." We walked out of the hotel and past the police car without a second glance, Isabela smiling in her new coat.

"So what exactly _are_ you?" I asked.

Isabela laughed and shook her head. "You got a girl, Trip?" she asked, deftly changing the subject.

"Nope." We waited for a break in traffic and hurried across the road.

"You got a boy?"

"…Nope." She was obviously trying to tease me, but I couldn't be bothered working out how to pretend to be threatened or offended.

She pursed her lips thoughtfully as she looked at me. I wasn't too pleased with the mischievous look on her face. I didn't think I wanted to know what she was thinking.

"Hey Mimi, don't you have a show to put on?"

"Shoot! I completely forgot!" She consulted her watch. "Damn, we gotta move." She stopped next to a parked car, "Are you going to get the door for me?" she asked innocently.

I put my hands in my pockets, "It's not your car."

"Not yet." She pulled a couple of hairpins from her hair and bent at the lock for a few moments. "Can I offer you a lift, sir?"

I sighed, "Fine."

Isabela drove like a maniac, and by the time we arrived outside the Hanged Man in a cloud of exhaust, my head was ringing with the sounds of horns and irate shouting that followed in our wake.

"I can't get you into tonight's show," Isabela said, stepping out of the car. "But I'll get you a bunch of tickets for the next one. I promise. And you can keep the car, if you like."

"Is there going to be a next one? Is it safe for you to stay in Kirkwall?"

"No safer than anywhere else, but," she shrugged, "I like it here. I'm having fun. You'll have to promise to cut me in on some of your fun okay? I won't let you down." She wiggled her fingers at me in farewell and hurried off in a swirl of fur.

I ran my fingers through my hair, feeling like I'd spent the day in the eye of a particularly enchanting storm. If I wasn't already nursing a heartbreak in the making, I was pretty sure I'd be head over heels for Isabela.

I shook my head and got back in the car. I drove it back to Hightown and parked it as close as I could to the spot Isabela had stolen it from.

Chivalrous, she'd said. To a fault, I'd say.


	19. Dumar Promises More Police For Hightown

"I don't get it. I live here and I couldn't get tickets, how the heck did you get 'em?"

I grinned at Varric in a manner that I hoped was infuriatingly mysterious. The Hanged Man was once again packed. The dance floor had been taken up by as many tables and chairs as they could fit in, and that in combination with the inexperienced extra staff hired for the evening had resulted in some spectacular accidents already.

Around noon a kid had come by with a handful of tickets, and I'd spent the rest of the day chasing people up and handing them out. Varric had arrived early to reserve his usual table, and I was grateful for it.

"Ooh, this is so exciting!" Merril had practically exploded with glee when I had visited her in the alienage to give her a ticket. She'd been occupying herself by buying drinks, and telling everyone how exciting it all was. She'd been here since sundown, and had bought a lot of drinks.

Aveline wasn't sure she wanted to go, but she was going stir crazy in the police barracks resting her ribs. Anders was easy to persuade, as was Carver, although the latter remained suspicious as to the source of the tickets.

And Fenris wasn't home. I'd left him a note and his ticket and was hoping for the best.

"Seriously, Trip. You obviously didn't pay for them," Carver said.

"Why does nobody trust me?" I asked. "They're perfectly legitimate tickets."

"What I want to know is why Mimi la Roux is here," Anders said. "The Hanged Man is not known for its headline acts. Or any acts; it's the same singer every night."

"Do you know much about her?" Merrill asked.

"I could sell you some of her records if you like," Varric offered. "She's from Orlais. If she looks anything like her picture, we're in for a show. Nothing dirty!" he was quick to reassure Aveline. "She's just a beautiful woman with a soul of glass and a voice like Spring."

"What does that even mean?" I asked.

Varric shrugged.

I lost all interest in the desultory conversation when I spotted Fenris edging through the crowd, a bemused expression on his face. I stuck my fingers in my mouth and whistled sharply to get his attention and waved him over.

"Glad you could make it," I told him, as he squeezed in at the table.

"What I don't understand is why they let him in, but threw Horse out."

"Anders, don't be an ass."

"What's going on?" Fenris asked.

"Didn't you get my note? We're here to see Mimi la Roux. And Anders is being an ass, but that wasn't in the note."

"Oh."

"Shh! It's starting. Oh, this is so exciting."

"Daisy, you might wanna go easy on those drinks."

The lights went down and the crowd quietened. The band appeared, to a polite round of applause, and with a roll of drums, the star of the show strolled onto the stage.

Our table erupted. Well, half of it did. Despite the diamante and the fancy hat, Anders, Varric, and Carver recognised her immediately.

"Dammit Trip!" Carver leaned over Anders to try and swat me and I leaned out of the way.

"So is she Mimi la Roux or not?" Anders asked, irritably fending off Carver, while Varric just laughed and laughed.

"I must confess, I don't get the joke," Fenris said.

Up on stage, Isabela was swinging her hips and trilling at the audience. I dunno if they were fooled or not; it wasn't like there weren't pictures of the real thing, but she had them eating out of her hand anyway.

"Shhh!" Merrill tried ineffectually to quieten us down.

Aveline cleared her throat, "You know a woman matching her …measurements is wanted for questioning in connection with that gang killing at the Ritz last night." She shot me a sharp glance, "as well as a far less described man with red hair."

"I don't know what you're talking about," I said.

"Do I want to know?" she asked.

"Honestly, Aveline? No, you probably don't. But I'll bet Mimi has ten people willing to swear she was here all last night if need be."

She frowned. "It's not my case. But if you think I'm going to give the court a character reference on your behalf, you can forget it."

"Just enjoy the show."

"There's a lot to enjoy," Varric pointed out.

From the stage, Isabela's voice rolled out over the audience, bold and brassy. "When you have a fight and you didn't win, buy a shotgun, start over again."

She spun around, her skirts flying up, revealing those legs, and the crowd cheered.

"I reckon she's better than the real thing," Varric declared. Merrill was dancing in her seat, or trying to, and nearly knocked her drink over.

Her songs tended to run towards the ribald and the vengeful and no one could complain that they weren't getting their money's worth, even the people who'd actually paid for tickets. At the end of the show, everyone at our table except Aveline got to their feet to applaud, and Isabela ran back on stage to accept the adulation of the audience. I could see she loved it; she had a big grin on her face as she blew kisses to the crowd.

After the show a fair number of people left, and the Hanged Man grew a little quieter.

"She can't possibly have fooled everyone in the Hanged Man," Aveline said.

"Of course she hasn't," Varric said. "It doesn't matter. This is the Hanged Man; you don't ask what's in the drinks, you don't ask what's in the food, you don't ask who the singer really is, and everyone has a good time."

"Some of us more than others," Carver said.

"You're just jealous," I told him.

"I know I'm jealous," Varric said.

"Relax, boys, there's plenty to go around."

Aveline nearly choked on her drink.

Isabela strolled up to our table, and smiled appreciatively at all of us.

"Wow, you're not short on friends, Trip. Should I have given you more tickets?"

"Not unless you wanted my Ma to come along as well. Everyone, this is Isabela. She was a client, but now she's…" I trailed off.

"Joining the gang, of course."

"What gang?" Merrill asked, staring in a slightly sozzled manner at Isabela's chest.

"This gang of course," she walked around the table, "I take one look at you and I can see you're a gang. I'm tired of solo performances; I want to have some fun with _friends_." She stepped in between Merrill and me and sat on my knee. I could practically feel Carver's disapproving stare. I didn't know if I was relieved or disappointed that Fenris only seemed mildly interested in the whole thing; he was frowning at his drink.

"I am not in a gang," Aveline said firmly.

"Oh, that sounds lovely, I'm Merrill. And you're such a good singer; I enjoyed the show very much."

"Aw, why thank you, kitten."

There was a flurry of introductions, some more enthusiastic than others. Isabela ordered a drink, and asked for everyone's life story, without, I noticed, revealing much about herself. Varric and Merrill were only too happy to talk, and Carver loosened up a bit when Isabela called him cute. Anders mumbled something about medical school and Fereldan, Aveline tried fruitlessly to unsettle Isabela with her badge and Fenris said curtly that his past was none of her business.

None of which deterred Isabela in the slightest. I've never seen a woman flirt with an entire table so ferociously.

"So how long are you going to keep me out of my own home?" Varric asked jocularly, "I miss my quiet table."

"Only a couple more shows. The trick is to leave them wanting more. Throwing roses, not bricks." She laughed.

"Bricks can be arranged," Aveline said quietly.

"You seem really familiar," Isabela leaned across me to stare at Anders.

"So do you," Anders said, looking puzzled.

"Did you ever visit the Pearl?" she asked.

"I er…ah…" He pushed his glasses up further on his nose and downed half his drink.

"What?" I nudged him.

"Wild youth," he mumbled, going red.

"He did that electricity-" Anders clapped his hand over her mouth, startling everyone at the table.

"Sorry," he muttered, snatching his hand back. "But it's not safe here. It's worse than Fereldan."

"Oh," she said, recovering her composure. "I'm sorry. They didn't know?"

"We know," I said quietly. "But it's not to be discussed in public." Most of the time I didn't even think about it. It's easier to forget that I'm a mage in the first place than spend all my time being a mage in hiding.

The reminder was enough to have me scanning the crowd again. Anders was too, and a short while after that he frowned and got to his feet. "Excuse me." He ducked off into the crowd.

"You know, there's a chair free now," Carver pointed out.

"Aw, you lonely all the way over there?" She slid across my lap and into the chair between me and Carver. She draped an arm over him and helped herself to a sip of his drink. Carver tried to look unruffled, as if this sort of thing happened to him all the time.

Things were starting to calm down when Anders returned, looking worried and slightly out of breath.

"Uh, look, Trip. I need your help."

"You were only gone ten minutes and you need his help," Fenris scoffed. "It's a wonder you make it through the night without him."

Anders opened his mouth, closed it again, and bunched his hands into fists as he evidentially made a great effort not to hit Fenris. "This is more important than arguing with you. Trip, there are some mages-"

"Of course there are."

"Fenris, let him finish."

"They were coming here from Starkhaven. We didn't know, otherwise- anyway they've broken out. They're loose in the city, but the Templars are closing in. The underground's been trying to find me all evening."

A heavy silence descended on the table.

"I see no reason to get involved in this," Fenris said. "It's dangerous for Trip to have anything to do with Templars. These mages got themselves into this mess to start with."

"I don't want your opinion, Fenris," Anders said, looking at me with an anxious expression.

I stubbed my cigarette out. I didn't really want to get involved with a bunch of fugitives who were dumb enough to draw the ire of the Templars as they made an ill-planned dash for freedom.

"Maker's Breath, Anders. I'm going to start charging you and your underground friends."

"Thank you," Anders said with obvious relief.

"Why are you even doing this?" Fenris asked. "You owe these mages nothing."

"I know. But a hunt like this isn't going to end without innocent people dying unless someone intervenes."

"And it has to be you, doesn't it?" He got to his feet and nodded. "I'll go."

"I'll help!" Merrill declared, downing the rest of her drink.

"I don't think that's a good idea," Varric said gently.

"Aw, but I want to."

"You need to go home, Daisy. Come on, I'll walk you."

"I'll be fine, I'm always fine."

"How many fingers am I holding up?"

"Um…on which hand?"

"As much as I hate to admit it, Trip has a point," Aveline said. "The people need to be protected; mages on the loose are bad enough, but in situations like this Templars are known to get trigger-happy as well."

"Oh, no," I shook my head, "you are not coming with us until the police doc says you're fit for active duty. I'm not going to be responsible for putting you back in hospital."

I glared at her until Aveline relented, "Fine, but don't get yourself sent to hospital either."

"Anders is with us, we'll be fine. You coming, Carver?"

"No," Carver said, his jaw set. "This will just end up like the Chantry again. I won't do it."

"I won't let it-"

"You might not, but _he_ will," He indicated Anders. "He's just looking for an excuse."

"That's not fair, Carver. If you don't want to go, fine. I'll see you tomorrow."

Isabela looked from one end of the table to the other, "Well, it looks like you're going to need me to make up the numbers."

"Come on then." I wasn't gonna argue.

"Thank you," Anders said quietly. I could see Carver's words had upset him.

Our table split, not terribly amicably, and Anders, Fenris, Isabela and I made our way out of the Hanged Man, where one of Anders' disreputable looking contacts was waiting impatiently for us, a cloth cap pulled down low over his face.

"You took your time," he grunted.

"I said I'd bring help, and I have," Anders said.

The man looked us over, "No names," he said shortly. "They were brought here on a train, and they escaped from the station. If we can get them to Darktown, we can smuggle them out through the usual routes. But they don't know the city, and don't know about us. The Templars are swarming all over the city looking for them. As are we. It's a race to see who finds them first, and we need all the help we can get."

"I'll find 'em," I said. "Let's go."

"You seem very confident," Isabela said, as we hurried away from the Hanged Man.

I grinned, "Well, I have something neither the Templars nor the mage underground has. He's called Horse. We know they were at the station, so we have a good starting point, and the trail is still only hours old."

"You do have an exciting life," Isabela said.

A/N: Lyric Credit: _Do It Right_ Wesley Wilson.


	20. Hunt For Lowtown Killer Stalls

Kirkwall is surrounded on three sides by high mountains, and so it took a long time before the railroad made it through. Sixty seven men died building the railroad. They blasted a tunnel two and a half miles long right through one of the mountains about seventy years ago. Most freight and visitors still come to Kirkwall by sea.

The main station is a long building, with a magnificent glass roof and a clock-tower that all the tourist stuff has pictures of. I'd been there a few times on business for the Red Iron Family, but I ain't never actually caught a train there.

Isabela drove us there. I didn't ask where she'd acquired the car from. She didn't seem to mind in the slightest that Horse was drooling on the leather seats. He seemed to like riding in cars, his ears and tongue flapping as he watched the scenery fly by.

We parked about a block away from the station and observed it from a distance. Unusually for this time of night, the place was all lit up, and there were about three Templar cars sitting out the front, and a few Templars standing around and smoking. As we'd been getting closer, I kept catching glimpses of them tramping down side streets and knocking on doors.

"The train the mages escaped from will not still be at the station," Fenris observed. "They have to clear the tracks for more trains."

"Right, we need to get to the train-yard. I'd rather avoid that lot anyway."

The train-yard was in darkness, but I could see lights bobbing among the silent carriages and trucks. The Templars were searching here too. I glanced up at the chain link fence, frowning at the barbed wire on the top.

"I don't suppose any of you carry wire cutters?" I asked in an undertone.

"Nope, but I can get us in," Isabela said. "Follow me."

She led us in silence around the edge of the train-yard, obviously looking for something. She beckoned us closer and pointed to a little sign carved into one of the fence posts.

"Tramp sign," she explained in a whisper. She tugged at the wire mesh, and a section of it just pulled away. I grabbed it and held it up as the others ducked through, and then Anders did the same for me. We lowered the wire back behind us; you might never have known it was loose.

We hurried down between the carriages, avoiding the lights of the Templars. After fifteen fruitless minutes, Fenris called a halt.

"We're not going to find the carriage they escaped from like this," he hissed. "The longer we spend here the more likely the Templars will find us instead. I hope you've got a good excuse ready."

"Taking three handsome fellas around behind the train tracks doesn't sound like an excuse so much as an excellent idea," Isabella said with a wicked smile. Anders looked embarrassed and Fenris just stared blankly at her.

"Let's just … stay here," I said. "I'll go and look for the carriage." I hauled myself up the side of one of the trucks, ignoring the coal dust getting on my hands and suit. I scrambled up on top and peered around. It didn't take me long to spot our goal. I made a mental note as to its location, and the location of the few Templars I could see, and climbed back down again.

"Okay, let's go," I whispered, brushing down my coat.

The mages' carriage was a wreck. Every window on it had been blown out, and the door was twisted off its hinges. It was almost as if the contents had been under huge pressure and had finally exploded. Which was close enough to the truth in a sense.

We hurried up to it, and I wasn't happy to see streaks of blood on the broken shards of glass remaining. Probably Templar blood, but putting mages under huge stress and then exposing them to the power in blood is a bad idea. The liquid carries a vital force that's not quite like lyrium, but can act in a similar manner.

"Up you get, boy." I patted the floor of the carriage and Horse leapt through the open doorway, eagerly applying his nose to everything, his stumpy tail wagging. This wouldn't be a hard trail to follow.

Indeed, within about thirty seconds, Horse was off, the rest of us hurrying over gravel and weeds in his wake. To my surprise, he didn't lead us out towards the city, but deeper into the train-yard.

"Don't tell me they're still _here_," Anders whispered.

"Why not?" Isabela asked. "Every empty carriage is a good hiding place. Safer than the streets tonight at least."

Horse stopped at a carriage and growled low in his throat. I glanced around, but the Templars weren't too close. I knocked.

"Don't hurt me!" The mage had obviously been curled or crouched on the floor, and I stepped back as he suddenly appeared, his hands up. He looked about seventeen, a scraggily attempt at a beard notwithstanding.

"We're not going to hurt you," Anders said gently. "We're here to help."

"Are there more of you in there?" I asked.

He shook his head. "I ran away. I want to go back. Decimus has started using blood magic! He said it was the only way, but I don't want to."

"Blood magic," Fenris ground out, "I might have guessed."

"We don't know that for sure yet," Anders said. He turned back to the mage, "Look, we can show you how to get out of the train-yards and into the city. There are more who will help you escape."

"I don't want to escape; if this is freedom, you can have it. I want to go back to my room in the circle," he said firmly.

Anders was drawing breath to argue but I shook my head. "There are Templars everywhere. Head back to the station, keep your arms up, and do everything they say. And if you have trouble in the Kirkwall circle, talk to a Templar named Emeric. He's a good man, he'll look after you."

"Right, thank you. The others are hiding in one of these carriages. Decimus said it will be safer to go at dawn with more people around." With that he dashed off, his ridiculous outfit flapping around his knees.

"More hostages he means," Fenris said. "The Templars will hold their fire if there are civilians in the way."

"Maybe they would have in Starkhaven, but not here," Anders replied.

I didn't feel like arguing, so I ignored them. Isabela looked a bit put out too; the bickering was probably spoiling her idea of a good time as it certainly wasn't mine.

The possibility of blood magic had complicated things a lot. I don't approve of blood magic. Father told me it gives the mage using it a rush that's very addictive and a weakened mind draws demons like moths to a flame. Theoretically, a mage with a strong enough will can handle it, but in his opinion it just wasn't worth the risk. I agreed.

Anders seemed conflicted as well. He muttered angrily under his breath as we followed Horse once again.

Fenris drew his gun.

This time, Horse didn't get close enough to indicate the required carriage. Despite the fact that we were all trying to be quiet, the door opened while we were still about fifteen feet away, and an older mage glared at us.

"They're here! The Templars have found us!" he spat his eyes alight with desperate fury.

"Hey, come on." I held my hands up.

"Decimus, no." A woman with a tough look that was too old for her appeared from further back in the carriage and grabbed his arm. "They're not Templars, look at them."

"What do I care? They've found us, and Templars will soon follow. If they live to tell them about us." He raised bloodstained hands and the windows on the side of the carriage shattered, hurling shards of glass towards us like sea spray.

I raised my hands, hurling a wall of force up to try and deflect them. Anders stepped up and I relaxed a bit as his shield enveloped us. Decimus wasn't the only one casting spells, but while we were exposed, the mages in the carriage could hide. Horse bounded up the steps to the carriage, only to be knocked back with a blast of magic. He yelped in pain.

I gritted my teeth in instinctive rage. No one hurts my dog. I leaped past Horse and into the doorway, bringing not teeth and claws but magic of my own. I didn't much care who was on the other end of it. The carriage was a blizzard of magic; I could see bodies, living or dead, huddling under the seats. And apostate ran at me only to stagger sideways, one of Isabela's knives buried in his neck.

I was looking for Decimus.

"Trip!" The shield wavered.

"Anders!" Decimus had made the mistake of leaving the carriage. There was a solid thump as someone hit the side. I scrambled up over a seat and a cowering mage and jumped out the window, ignoring the glass snagging at my coat and nicking my arm.

Fenris had been knocked into the side of the carriage, and he ducked as I sailed over his head. He was holding his fire; presumably to avoid alerting the Templars. Anders' scalpel flashed in his hand, but he was distracted maintaining the shield; he kept dodging Decimus's attacks but wasn't landing many of his own. Isabela was nowhere to be seen.

"Come on you mad bastard," I growled as my hands flared. "Like hell I'm going to turn you loose in my city now."

I'd never fought another mage for real before, just friendly sparring with Father; Bethany had never been game for it.

I didn't think I'd win by throwing magic at him. He was older and probably a lot stronger, and he'd opened a vein somewhere; a reddish haze hung around him as he darted away from Anders.

I clapped my hands together, and he flinched, pushing back with his own magic. I didn't think I'd capture him; I just wanted a distraction. I ran at him with every intention of breaking his jaw. My hand passed through empty air and I staggered on for a few paces before something sharp and painful smacked into my back.

Decimus had been there one moment, and the next he just wasn't.

Unfortunately for him, he'd reappeared near Fenris. Fenris clenched his fists, threw his head back, and snarled. There was a 'whump' as his markings flared and a ring of dust was raised around him. I didn't know what he'd done, but the red mist around Decimus had gone.

I was too far away to launch another punch, but I scooped up a piece of gravel and hurled it at the blood mage. And I didn't just use my arm. The rock hit him like a bullet, glowing faintly blue by the time it reached its target. It ricocheted off his head and blood spurted as he staggered back.

He didn't get a chance to recover. Anders and Fenris reached him at the same time, Fenris punching him in the jaw, and Anders' scalpel sliding into his back. He crumpled.

I heard the sound of a match being struck. Isabela was leaning out of one of windows without any glass, her forearms resting on the sill as she lit a smoke. "All clear in here," she said. "Only a couple had any fight in them."

"You could have helped out here," Anders said, bending over and resting his hands on his knees as he caught his breath.

"You boys had it under control. Besides, mage duels are dangerous enough for spectators, let alone participants."

I wasn't listening. I hurried over to Horse, who was still lying where he'd fallen. He raised his head and tried to get up as I knelt beside him.

"Anders!"

"It's okay." He was beside me in a moment, running his fingers over the blood-mattered fur on Horse's front legs. He squeezed his eyes shut as he dug deeper into his reserves.

"Lie still," I said, and Horse obeyed.

"Good as new," Anders said eventually. He managed a weak smile when I squeezed his shoulder.

"Thanks, that's a second family member I owe you." Horse scrambled to his feet and licked my face enthusiastically. Anders leant out of the way; obviously not keen on Horse's breath.

"What about you?" Fenris spoke up. "You're hurt."

I turned my arm over to look at where the glass had cut me, "It's no big deal, just a scratch."

"I meant your back, you sap," Fenris snapped, uncharacteristically annoyed, I thought. He wasn't the worrying type.

There was a dull ache in the centre of my back, but I didn't think it was worth getting worked up about. Anders leaned back to take a look and winced.

"What? What?" I twisted my head but couldn't see anything.

"It looks like he hit you with a couple pounds of ice, hold on." I felt a dull pressure as Anders placed his hands on my back, and then it _really_ hurt. I dug my fingers into the scruff of fur at the back of Horse's neck and gritted my teeth.

When Anders finished he just sat on the ground, "If anyone else needs healing," he said, "they can find a real doctor. I am spent."

"Lost a bit of stamina since you left Fereldan then," Isabela said with amusement.

I'd almost forgotten about the other mages when the woman who'd tried to restrain Decimus earlier hurried out of the carriage and knelt by his corpse.

"Oh, you fool," she told him sadly, but when I got to my feet she did too, her jaw set. "You are here to help us, aren't you? You're mages."

Fenris scowled and folded his arms.

"That is why we're here," I said.

"Good! After this we can't afford to stay here. We can get on a train for somewhere – anywhere – but we need you to kill the Templars at the station first."

"What?"

"You can't make us go back to the circle. After what Decimus did, we'll all be punished. The Templars must die."

"No!" I held up my hands. "No one has to die."

Her lip curled, "You've got a better idea?"

"Yes. I will distract the Templars and lead them elsewhere. You can get on your train safely."

Both Fenris and Anders looked like they were going to object, but Isabela nodded approvingly. "Everybody wins."

"If this works, Anders, you can tell you friends that we handled it and that they can go to bed." I glanced at the mages, who were clustering at the side of the carriage, listening. "You stay out of sight. When the next goods train arrives, just hop on and go."

I shrugged off my coat and glared at it. It was gonna take Ma at least a week to mend this mess. "Hold this," I told Anders. I'd rather look slightly cold than completely disreputable. I had blood on my sleeve and I rolled them both up to hide it. It was the best I could do.

I trotted towards the station, the others keeping out of sight.

"Oi!" I called, waving my arms, as soon as I saw a lantern. I blinked, slightly dazzled, as the Templar shone it in my face. "There are," I was slightly out of breath, as I'd intended to be, "a bunch of dead men. People. Mages." I pointed back the way I'd come. "They must have had a fight or something."

"What? Just hold your horses. Sarge!" I waited, while several other Templars arrived.

"What's going on here?" Sarge turned out to be a tall man I'd have taken for a mobster if he weren't in uniform. He had the kind of face that only laughed at the meanest jokes. I repeated my story to him.

"Who are you?" he asked. "What are you doing here?" He glared at me suspiciously.

"Well, my, uh, girlfriend," I mumbled, rubbing the back of my head awkwardly.

"Where is she then?"

"She went home, didn't she? There are a bunch of dead people back there. I told her I'd report it."

"We need to check his story. Don't let him leave." They weren't totally buying it. I'd have to hope the others had picked a good hiding place; otherwise I'd have led the Templars right to them. And to me, as a sympathiser at the very least. I didn't think the mage woman would hesitate to turn me in as an apostate if she thought I hadn't been level with her.

"Templars! Thank the Maker!" I glanced up in surprise to see Isabela hobbling towards us.

She'd lost a shoe, and her dress was torn; she held it up with one hand, the other flailing towards me as she collapsed into my arms. And then she burst into tears.

"What's wrong?" I asked.

"Mages," she managed to get out between sobs. "They caught me. There was magic, I was so scared." She lifted her tear-stained face to stare pleadingly up at the Templars, who immediately snapped their gazes away from her legs. Her make-up was running, and she took deep gasping breaths that threatened the integrity of the rest of her dress.

"They were climbing over the fence," she pointed. "They said if I didn't run they'd kill me, and then one s-said they would anyway." Her breath hitched and fresh tears rolled down her face. "I ran."

"It's okay, it's okay," I told her, stroking her hair. "The Templars will find them. Won't you?" I said in a harder tone, glaring at them as if it was their fault Isabela was crying.

"Er, right. Miss, can you tell is exactly which way they went?"

Isabella nodded, and shakily gave directions that would see the Templars searching the backstreets until dawn.

"I'll get you home safe," I promised her, and I put an arm around her as she picked her way slowly out of the station. "You oughtta be a movie star," I told her quietly, once we were out of earshot.


	21. Grand Cleric Denounces Qun

A/N: This chapter contains sexual content.

* * *

><p>"Now there's an idea," Isabela said as she wiped streaks of mascara off her face with my handkerchief. "I've never been to Tantervale. You think I could be in movies, Trip?"<p>

"I think you can do anything you put your mind to." We were strolling slowly back towards Isabela's car. When we got there, the others were already waiting for us.

"We took the mages down the tracks a way," Anders said as he handed me back my coat. "They'll be able to jump on the next train before it picks up speed."

"I certainly hope so," I said. "I don't want to see any of them again. Buffoons, the lot of them."

"I ruined my stockings for them," Isabela said, "I hope they're grateful."

"I can't believe you let them go," Fenris growled. "They were blood mages. Their leader tried to kill you."

"The mages who attacked us are dead," I said wearily. "The others deserved their shot at freedom."

"You do not even have the excuse of ignorance," Fenris snarled.

"As what amounts to an ex-prisoner, neither do you," Anders said sharply. "Trip is trying to do what's right. People should be free."

There was nothing Fenris liked more, apparently, than arguing with Anders. "Abominations and blood mages have renounced their humanity. They are hunted down like dogs, and as they should be."

Horse whined enquiringly.

"Sorry," Fenris said absently to the dog, before turning his attention back to Anders. "Mages have proved time and time again that they cannot be trusted. At the smallest chance, they seize power, and the things they do with it are terrible."

"The things that are done to them are terrible! Can you blame them for being angry? It's people like you and attitudes like yours that are responsible, not mages."

"Are they always like this?" Isabela asked.

"Pretty much. Come on, fellas, it's late. Let's head home." I probably should have kept my mouth shut. Both Fenris and Anders turned and glared at me.

"How can you just stand there and let him say these things?" Anders asked. "You can't possibly agree with him."

"Dammit, Anders. That bastard tried to kill us tonight. Maybe you've been on the receiving end before, but I haven't. I don't blame people for being scared of us. I don't have to like it, but there it is."

"Then why did you help them?" Fenris asked. "You saw what was going on. We could have sent them back to the circle."

"See? He wants us all locked up."

"Tell him that he asks for the impossible."

I looked from one to the other, my patience finally at an end. "Will you both shut up? You," I pointed at Anders, "are idealistic. And you," I swung my finger towards Fenris, "are inflexible. I can see both sides. Until you can as well, there is no point talking to either of you about it."

"Now listen-"

"But Trip-" They both started and stopped talking at the same moment, while I folded my arms.

"I'm going home," I declared.

"I'll give you a lift," Isabela said. "All of you, of course."

Anders shook his head, "I need to get in contact with the underground and tell them the mages have gone."

"I'm walking," Fenris said flatly and lit a smoke as he stalked off.

I sighed, and ushered Horse into the back seat of Isabela's car.

Isabela shot me an amused glance as we drove back to Lowtown, "They were fighting over you like stags in the spring."

"That's not really… can you put it a different way?" I asked.

"Like bulls, over a cow."

"No!"

"Like mabari over a bi-"

"Isabela!"

She laughed. "You need a drink. On me."

"Yeah, all right."

* * *

><p>Isabela was as good as her word. When we returned to the Hanged Man, she made a beeline for the bar and ordered two shots of the Hanged Man's finest rotgut. She winked at me and downed hers, and being the sort of gent I am I felt obligated to follow suit.<p>

How anyone drinks that stuff on a regular basis amazes me.

I managed not to choke, and once I'd regained most of my senses, pleasant warmth had settled in my stomach.

I politely declined a second drink while Isabela ordered another.

"You don't have to worry, you know. About me and the whole, mage thing. I don't think anyone should be locked up." She gazed a bit dreamily at the smoky ceiling, "I think everyone should be free to live the way they want. I was married for a while and that was bad enough, believe me. I can't imagine being stuck in a circle."

"Neither can I," I said, helping myself to some peanuts then remembering where I was and thinking better of eating them.

"So you were never in the circle?"

"Nope."

"Nice work. I guess that explains a lot. So," she put a hand on my arm, "can you do that electricity-"

"No," I said shortly.

She looked at me with big eyes, "No?"

"In the circle, a mage doesn't have to hide. Everyone knows. As an apostate, I just have to screw up _once_ and the secret is out. I don't use my magic unless I have no other choice." I didn't really like talking about this stuff, but it was kind of hard to stop. Isabela seemed to get it in a way Fenris and Anders didn't. "When Bethany and I were children, we had to move a lot. I don't really remember most of the villages we lived in. We learned to make friends quickly and not miss them too much when we had to move on."

"Aw," Isabela kicked off her other shoe. She didn't seem to notice the odd looks she got in her laddered stockings and torn dress. "I didn't mean to upset you."

"I'm not upset, really." I smiled at her.

"Good. Let's dance anyway. Anyone who goes out with me is guaranteed a good time."

I chuckled, "I'll bet."

Isabela was a better dancer than Merrill. Better than me, for certain, although she seemed pretty happy in my arms. She asked me where I'd learned, but I didn't feel like referring to ghosts for the second time that night. When Bethany was about twelve, she wanted to be an actress, or a dancer, and I was old enough to figure out that girls liked fellas who could dance. So after our chores were done, we'd practice in the living room while Carver rolled his eyes at us.

It wasn't the kind of story I wanted to tell Isabela; her imagination would come up with a much more exciting version, I was sure. For some reason, she seemed to think I was the bee's knees.

I had no intention of correcting her.

The dance floor was starting to empty; The Hanged Man stayed open until dawn, but few had the stamina to remain that long. For some reason, Isabela and I didn't take advantage of the extra space.

"You want another drink?" Isabela asked.

"I'd rather keep my wits about me." I could feel her heartbeat under my fingers resting on her lower back.

"Worried it might take a toll on your performance?" She was grinning at me.

"_Hell_ no." I pulled her closer and now I wasn't sure if it was her heartbeat or mine I could feel in my chest.

"Ooh, using such language in front of a lady. I thought you were a gentleman."

"Only before midnight."

"Midnight was a long time ago, baby."

We weren't even really dancing anymore, instead merely swaying to the music I could barely hear above the blood in my ears, our arms wrapped around each other. I'd forgotten about mages, and Fenris's stupid arguments with Anders, or even what had happened to Horse (I'd left him waiting faithfully outside the front door, and the bouncers took a liking to him; when I returned he was almost spherical from all the scraps they'd given him and he spent the rest of the day sleeping it off.) All I could think about was the unspoken promise Isabela had made with her eyes and her lips on the fire escape the night before.

I had an idea she was thinking about the same thing.

She took my arm without another word and we strolled off the dance floor, upstairs to her room.

The door shut behind us with a solid click, and she leaped on me. I should have been expecting it, but the sheer ferocity of her attack caught me off-guard and we stumbled and staggered and snogged and eventually tumbled onto the bed in a tangle of limbs and slightly breathless giggling.

"Off!" she commanded, throwing my ruined coat halfway across the room like it was hot.

"Not so fast," I caught one of her hands while the other pulled free of my grasp and started untucking my shirt. We wrestled. And she won, with moves that I consider completely illegal, totally distracting, and absolutely delightful. She pulled my shirt right over my head and I fell off the side of the bed.

Isabela burst out laughing, "The look on your face."

"How do you know this wasn't part of my plan?" I asked.

"I'll bite," she promised. "What now?"

I tugged one of her legs towards me and she obliged.

"Don't hurt yourself," she warned me as slid my fingers up her thigh, and curled them over the edge of her garter. She still had her daggers equipped and despite my distraction I hadn't forgotten them. Her stockings were torn and laddered by her barefoot adventures in the train yard and the Hanged Man. They were silk too; it was a real shame, I reflected, as I slid them off her smooth brown legs.

"You got any more knives hidden in your underwear?" I asked.

She grinned at me, "You'll just have to find out, won't you?"

She gasped as I bit gently on the inside of her leg, all the way down to her ankle. And then I started working my way back up the other leg, Isabela unclipping things and wiggling under her dress. I appreciate that; taking of a doll's stockings is fun; messing about with all those little clips on a brassiere only so if you're taking things slow.

We'd been at this little game since last night; that's slow enough.

I hitched Isabela's shift dress a bit higher on her hips. It was torn and dusty, and I kind of liked it; it promised the girl inside to be something special, if I didn't already know that.

I licked my lips and felt Isabela cross her ankles over my back.

"I thought you weren't a gentleman after midnight?" she asked breathily, looking at me through half-closed eyelids.

I grinned at her, "How do you know I won't _stop_?" I asked.

"You'd better not," she warned.

I did. Stop, I mean. She swore at me, her toes curling and breathless moans being torn from her throat.

Oh Peaches, you received and never gave, but I learned such a lot from you.

I crawled up onto the bed, pulling off the rest of my clothes as I did so. She wrapped her arms around my neck and pulled me down onto her, biting and sucking at my mouth.

I raised myself on my arm and slid her torn dress off her shoulder. I couldn't think of any other girl I knew ripping her clothes like that. Her white teeth scraped over her bottom lip as she grinned at me.

"Go on," she breathed, her eyes sparkling. "You want to, don't you?"

I did.

I knelt between her legs and ripped the rest of her dress, splitting it right down to the hem as she purred with delight. She arched her back and shrugged off her brassiere. I realised I was staring like a fool. Isabela had the kind of figure a man could taste once and die happy.

So I did. Well, not once, and I didn't die, but I was very, very happy. Isabela was too. She tilted her head back and stroked my hair.

"Oh, yes," she sighed.

I was still on my hands and knees above her, and she reached up with her arms and legs and pulled herself up against me, letting me take all her weight. She wrapped her legs around my hips and that was an invitation I don't think anyone in the world would have the willpower to refuse. She sank her teeth into my left earlobe as she wiggled around me. I gritted my teeth and locked my arms as she manoeuvred us closer until there was no distance at all. Negative distance. She was all around me, slick and hot. It was torturous; she started rocking her hips and my arms were beginning to protest at the strain. But I wouldn't give in until she did. Somehow. She clung to me, her breath hot on my skin as she whispered breathy and filthy endearments with a delighted grin.

I couldn't hold us both up forever, but I didn't have to. She was digging her nails into my back and making considerable noise within a couple of minutes, and shortly after that I collapsed on top of her holding her underneath me as she let whoever was next door know exactly what my name was, over and over.

I didn't care. I rolled off her so we could catch our breath.

"You know what I love about younger men?" she asked dreamily, stroking my cheek.

"Huh?" I raised my head and looked at her.

She rolled over and slithered over onto me and sat on my stomach, "Aww, poor Sleepy. You'll find out." She rested her elbows on my chest and kissed my chin.

Twenty minutes later, I was pretty sure I wasn't going to get any sleep at _all_.

She was the most insatiable woman I'd ever met. We climbed all over each other, and she left bite marks on my neck and shoulders, and scratches down my back. If there was anyone in the rooms next to us they didn't get any sleep either. I wasn't sure if I was being broken in or allowed to run wild.

Dusty Kirkwall sunlight was streaming through the slats in the shutters when peace descended. Isabela got out of bed, naked as the day she was born, and I watched her stretch before she padded off to the bathroom. I heard the taps squeak on, and I dozed while she showered.

I opened my eyes again when she flopped back on the bed, wrapped in a towel.

"Pass me a smoke?" she asked.

I fumbled around on the bedside table and helped myself to one before passing one over and lighting it for her.

"Just so we're clear," she said carefully. "This doesn't mean anything. This was a bit of fun, and it sated my curiosity. But it doesn't go any further than that, you understand?"

I raised an eyebrow at her, "Do you give this speech to all the fellas?"

She laughed, "Just the romantics. There are fewer of those than you might think."

I was going to argue about it, but then thought better of it. "Yeah, all right."

"Huh!" She propped herself up on her elbows and looked at me, eyebrows raised in surprise. "I wasn't expecting that."

To tell the truth, I wasn't either. Isabela was pretty much perfect, and her imperfections were the kind I liked. But she was just a couple months too late to steal my heart. "Why not?"

"You strike me as the kind of man who makes his mind up and then doesn't give up until he gets what he wants."

"That doesn't mean I'll ever get what I want."

She shrugged and flopped back against her pillow. "I got what I want, and that's what matters."

In the warm and slightly gritty light of morning, I was starting to feel, well, guilty. It didn't take a genius to work out why, either. Maker's Breath, Fenris. Stop ruining my love-life all the way from Hightown. This sort of thing is healthy for a single fella.

And at this rate, I was likely to remain one.

"Hey, Isabela," I said. "You're very, um, knowledgeable. Have you ever, you know, with another girl?"

"Of course I have. Girls are lovely; as I'm sure you'll agree. Why? You should have said something if you wanted someone else to join in last night."

"No, that's not. I mean, that's interesting." Very interesting. "But that's not what I'm getting at. I mean, most girls like fellas, right. And fellas like girls. So, how do you know if a girl would want that sorta thing?"

"How do you ever find out if a girl would want that sort of thing? You flirt with her and you ask her. I don't think you need help getting girls, Trip." Suddenly she sat up and looked at me, a grin on her face. "Oh, I get it. You're goofy over a fella, ain'tcha? That's why you took my speech so well."

I scowled at her.

"Is it Anders?" she asked excitedly. "Cause he's got it bad for you, I'll tell you what."

"What? Really?" That couldn't be right. "No, he's getting over someone else. Besides, his idea of a fun time is distributing pamphlets to the workers." And Fenris's idea of a good time would probably be throwing rocks at mages. Why don't I have any normal friends?

"Varric? Ooh, that chest hair would be enough to turn anyone." She laughed at my expression.

"I think I should be heading home," I said abruptly. "I need to wash my dog."

Isabela just kept chuckling at me. It really was rather irritating.

"My advice is still good," she said, watching me pull on my trousers. "Give it a try. What have you got to lose, really?"


	22. Starkhaven Mages Disappear in Kirkwall

Once Isabela had decided my intentions were not honourable, she promptly gave me an open invitation to return. And I declined for exactly the same reason. She was right after all; I had to admit I was a romantic. I couldn't keep playing with someone just because it was fun, even if they approved.

So I collected Horse and went home.

When I opened the door, Carver was sitting in the chair in my office. He frowned at me.

"What time do you call this?" he asked.

I squinted at the clock, "Uh, just after nine. Why are you in my chair?"

"Because you're being irresponsible. Again. You made such a big deal about your detective agency making us some money, but you only show up when you feel like it."

"It's my business and I'll run it how I want. There's only one of me; if I've got a job I'm not gonna be in the office anyway. If you wanna be my secretary, you're gonna have to practice smiling a bit more. And maybe start wearing stockings."

"Always with the smart remarks." He got out of my chair. "Where were you anyway? Ma was worried sick."

"Now why would she be worried unless someone told her what I was up to?"

Got him. He scowled. Which still meant I had to go and reassure Ma that I was still alive. I wondered if I was too late for breakfast.

Carver tapped his neck, "You've got some pretty interesting bruises for someone who was out freeing the oppressed all night."

I slapped my neck. Shit. _Isabela_.

Carver smirked, "Got you." He collected his hat and coat with a smug expression.

"You're just jealous."

"Says you." He swaggered out.

"Prick."

I had to wonder who'd died and left him a backbone.

I went back into the apartment to reassure Ma that I was still alive. When she saw what the mages had done to my coat she was not very reassured. She thanked the Maker that Anders had been there and then squeezed the breath out of me. I told her I wasn't about to get involved with this stuff _without_ Anders prodding me.

I'm not sure she was convinced.

Ma wasn't sure she'd be able to repair the damage, and I started counting through what I'd been saving to see about getting a new coat. Maybe Carver had a point. We weren't on the streets and we were making our rent, but there wasn't a whole lot left over to cover unexpected expenses.

I had been intending to catch up on my sleep, but the thought that Carver could come back at any time and chew my ear a bit more kept me at my desk. So I was awake when Anders arrived.

"Morning," I said.

He looked like he hadn't gotten any sleep yet either, although probably not for anything like the kinds of reasons I hadn't. He stood like a schoolboy expecting a reprimand from the teacher.

"I want to apologise," he said, "for last night. You've been a good friend, and you haven't hesitated to help our cause. I shouldn't have lost my temper like that."

I sighed, "Apology accepted. Just, look, I know Fenris has a way of getting under your skin. He's good at that." Oh boy, didn't I know it. "But he was there too. He helped your mages just like I did."

"Only because you were there."

"Well, yes. I know he baits you, but can you try not to argue with him? It just gets ugly, and you're not going to convince each other, you know this."

"You argue with him too. Carver told me where you got that black eye; your fights with him are even worse than mine."

"No they're not. It's different," I insisted.

"How is it different?" He folded his arms.

"I like him!"

"Wha ….what?" Anders sank into the chair across from me and stared into my face.

"Anders, we're friends. I beat him up, he beat me up, but we weren't going to actually hurt each other. You think Carver and me haven't done worse? It's just the way we are. I get angry at him, but I don't dislike him. As long as he shuts up about mages, he's actually worth talking to. Kind of like you, in a way."

"Oh." Anders let out a breath. "I see." He looked oddly relieved.

"If I thought you two could throw a couple of punches and sort it out, I wouldn't say a word. But it ain't like that, is it?"

Anders sighed, "No, I see your point."

"I'm not asking you to be his friend, but can you try not to be so easily riled up? Just don't argue. Save your breath. Be the better man."

Anders lifted his chin, his eyes narrowed. "I am the better man," he declared.

"Glad to hear it. Now I have to see about getting a new coat."

"It was my fault your old one got ruined. I should pitch in for a new one."

"Can you afford it?"

"Well, no."

"Then forget about it. I'm going to see Varric and ask him who his tailor is."

We wandered downstairs and entered Varric's shop. He didn't do bad business, all things considered, although you wouldn't expect a bookshop in Lowtown to be making a mint. He was talking to a customer when we arrived, so Anders and I stopped and browsed for a while and Anders slipped some of his pamphlets in among the comics. Varric told me he did it all the time, but the dwarf was too polite to mention it.

I would have no such reservations if he started messing with my comics. Who did he think he was going to convince, anyway?

It sounded like the conversation was wrapping up, and I stepped out from between the shelves only to step back again as a tall, blonde woman strode past imperiously. She was wearing a brown pinstripe suit with a skirt, and incongruously, a bowler hat. Anders made a kind of strangled squeak behind me.

I'd seen her face before.

In the papers. All the time.

Anders grabbed my arm as the bell over the door tinkled, signalling the woman had left. "That was Meredith!" Anders hissed. "I'm sure of it. I didn't imagine it, did I?"

I shook my head, "If it wasn't her it was a pretty good look-alike."

"What's she doing here, in Varric's shop?" Anders was still whispering.

"Why don't we ask him?" I suggested in a more normal tone. I had to admit I was slightly shaken, but she was gone now and I had more reason to be curious than worried.

"Varric," I hailed him. "Merrill get home safe?"

"Morning fellas. No need to check up on me, I was the perfect gentleman."

"Was that really Meredith?" Anders asked.

"I could ask her for an autograph next time if you like."

"What was she doing here? Does she know about Trip?"

"I know you think highly of me," I said, "but I doubt she'd make a personal visit on my account. So what was she here for, Varric?" I grinned. "Don't tell me she's after those dime novels about the girls with the big-"

Varric gave me a dubious look, "She gets a boxful delivered to her office every week."

"Seriously?"

"No, Blondie. That was a joke." Varric wasn't really smiling. He looked harassed rather than amused. "She was here to buy something, why else would she visit? And if you fellas aren't about to do the same, I'll have to ask you to leave. I got a lot of work to do today," he said pointedly.

Maker's Breath, don't tell me Carver had gotten to him as well. It wasn't like Varric to be in such a sour mood, but I figure having two politically active apostates and the commander of the city's Templars in your shop at the same time would be enough to rattle anyone.

"Alright, we'll see you later." I was outside again before I remembered I was supposed to ask him about his tailor. As soon as the door had shut behind us, Varric walked over and flipped his 'open' sign to 'closed'. Anders was peering nervously up and down the street and then said he thought he should get back to his clinic, just in case.

I sighed and went back upstairs. Ma wasn't working that day, so we walked over to the markets to find me a coat, and I treated her to some lunch as thanks.

* * *

><p>That night, during some ungodly hour, I was woken up by Horse's feet on my chest and his great slobbery tongue on my cheek.<p>

"What? Ugh! Horse!" I managed to fight him off, and he trotted across the room to put his nose to the door. I frowned. He knew better than to ask for a walk at night. I wiped my face with the back of my hand, grimacing. The springs on my cot protested as I sat up and stared at my dog.

Horse trotted back and delicately tugged on my blankets.

"Stop that! All right, I'm awake." I stood up and walked over to the door, Horse at my heels. I opened the door a crack and flinched as cold air instantly whipped away any warmth I'd retained from my bed and any chance of just going back to sleep again. I peered down the stairwell, but couldn't see anything out of the ordinary.

I heard a solid thump from somewhere downstairs. Horse growled quietly. Huh.

"Good boy," I whispered and scratched him behind the ear. I backed away from the door and went to wake Carver.

"Someone's broken in downstairs? In the shop?" he asked sleepily.

"Sounds like it. Put some pants on." I felt my way back into my room and found my trousers and shoes in the dark. Carver appeared with Gamlen's old wallop mallet over his shoulder. He nodded and the three of us, including Horse, crept down the front steps.

Varric's shop was shut, but we could see a dim, wavering light somewhere in the back room. We were obliged to circle around the entire block of townhouses and we crept through the tangle of weeds, old furniture, and vegetable gardens behind the building.

Horse must have established himself as top dog in our neighbourhood, because while we heard the scuffling of canine feet and the occasional chain dragging, none of the neighbouring dogs raised the alarm. It was damn cold and I wish I'd thought to wear a shirt.

When we managed to locate our building we could see the window at the back of Varric's storeroom had been smashed; it was probably that which had woken Horse.

"What's the plan?" Carver whispered.

"Let's count 'em first. Come on. Quietly." Whoever was in there, they were also trying to be quiet; I didn't hear any talking, just the scuffing of feet and the occasional thump as a box was moved. They weren't here to lift Varric's stock wholesale.

We picked our way through grass Gamlen probably hadn't cut all summer, and peered in through the broken window. I could see two dark shapes methodically opening boxes and swinging torches over neatly packed books. I could see a dim light from the front room.

"One each," I whispered. "Horse takes the one on the right, you take left, and I'll grab the bastard in the front room."

Carver nodded and Horse's tongue lolled happily. Horse loved playing Fetch the Burglar.

They'd smashed the window to reach the lock on the back door, and it opened under my hand.

"On three. One, two-"

"Got yas!"

Sheer instinct sent me stumbling through the doorway as the blade sliced down where my back had been. I thought we'd been sneaky, but I hadn't even noticed the lookout. I could hear Horse, Carver and our assailant scuffling behind me, while I found myself facing two tough looking dwarves holding long, wicked-looking knives.

Now I realised who they were. "Carta."

"Heh." They closed in on me, confident that there wasn't much threat from a half-naked human with empty hands.

More fool them. I dodged out of the way of the first lightning-fast attack, and grabbed the dwarf's wrist, swinging us both around so he was between me and his friend. It was hard work, but. Dwarves are sturdy and hard to hurl around. He wasn't even off-balance, instead slashing at me with a blade in his other hand. I was obliged to let him go and leap back out of the way.

I smirked, and beckoned at them. I wasn't just waving my fingers uselessly, however. A stack of boxes behind them, piled nearly to the ceiling started to topple forward. They both scrambled to get out of the way and I attacked. I swung my fist into the dwarf's jaw, and he staggered back. I could see him bare his teeth under his hood and then I had my hands full, just keeping his knives off me. I didn't even know dwarves could be that fast, and I realised why the Carta was feared even beyond Orzammar.

But I didn't need to connect; all I wanted was an opening. I saw it. I grabbed a handful of air and pushed, hard. The dwarf was punched off his feet and landed on the pile of tumbled boxes. I turned to his friend to see Carver crack the wallop mallet over the other dwarf's head. The dwarf dropped forward onto his knees and one of his knives fell from his hand. I kicked it off into a corner.

Horse leaped on the first dwarf and Carver grinned and raised his mallet.

"All right, who's next?"

Movement from the front room caught my eye. "Duck!" I tackled Carver to the ground as a shot went off. Horse started barking fiercely as Carver and I scrambled to find cover. We ended up flattened against the wall behind some shelves. Horse was smart enough to hide too. Outside, other dogs followed Horse's lead, and a light came on upstairs.

"Move it!" The dwarf from the front room growled as the other two picked themselves off the floor. He raised his voice, "You will regret crossing the Carta, mark my words."

The dwarves beat a retreat. We remained in our hiding places until we were sure they'd gone, and turned on the lights.

Then Carver laughed.

"She sure did a number on you. Nice work, Trip."

"Huh?" I turned to see Carver eyeing the love bites on my shoulders and the scratches on my ribs with something akin to admiration. "Shuttup. I'm gonna go upstairs and call the cops." And get a shirt.

"Are you sure?" Carver asked, stepping into the middle of the storeroom and looking around at the mess. It wasn't just books in some of those crates; I spotted clothes, silverware and objects wrapped in cloth that I suspected were antiques of some kind.

"Maybe not." Aveline most likely wouldn't want to know about this. "I'll telephone the Hanged Man. See what Varric wants to do."

As it turned out, Varric wanted us to stay put and contact no one else. I wasn't terribly surprised. Ma and Gamlen had been woken up by the noise. I told them that someone had broken in, but had long gone, and that Varric was taking care of it. Gamlen didn't know whether to be pleased or annoyed that his prized wallop mallet had played a part in the proceedings. He retrieved it and went back to bed, while Ma insisted on getting up and making us coffee.

I went back downstairs to wait for Varric.

Carver was already poking around. "They busted open the cashbox," he said, having turned all the lights on.

"Notice they didn't take any cash though," I said, peering over his shoulder. "They were really giving this place a going over."

Carver watched me poke around. "They were after something specific, you think?"

"Yeah, I do. I want to know what it was that got the Carta so interested." There weren't any obvious clues, and we were none the wiser by the time Varric arrived.

"That bastard!" he said, glaring at the mess as he stomped through his shop.

"What bastard?" Carver asked, wrapping his fingers around his coffee cup.

Varric just shook his head. "Is anyone hurt?" he asked.

"We're fine," I told him. "Though not from lack of trying. One of them took a shot at us."

"He did? Dammit, now I'll have to pay off the police when they show up too."

"Were you expecting the Carta?" I asked him.

Varric looked at me. "Not …exactly."

"You had Meredith herself in your shop yesterday. Now you're broken into by the Carta. What's going on, Varric?"

"You're the detective, why don't you figure it out?" he growled, still prowling around his stock.

"Because I don't really want to start a covert investigation into one of my best friends. Varric, it's me. It's us. Tell us what is wrong and we will try to help."

Varric stopped and looked from one to the other of us. He sighed, "I know, Trip. But I don't want you getting involved with this. There's nothing you can do to help, and it might be dangerous. I just need to get it sorted fast, that's all. Faster than I'd expected."

I frowned, "This has something to do with Bartrand, doesn't it?"

"Well," Varric shrugged helplessly, "that's what I get for inviting a detective to figure stuff out. Bartrand had to borrow money to finance the expedition, so now he's trying to shift some of the things he found so he can pay off his debts. Unfortunately, that means handing the whole mess over to me, because I've got the contacts."

"So Meredith's a buyer and the Carta want their money."

"Right. Bartrand's a respected archaeologist now. Or he thinks he is. So he wants nothing to do with this part of it, although you can bet he'll be back to collect his share of the profits. I appreciate the help, boys, but there's nothing further you can do." He spoke gently but firmly, and I couldn't see any reason to argue with him about it.

"Well, you know where to find us," I told him.

"That I do."


	23. Rogue Mages Apprehended on Train

The police came around the next morning and interviewed everyone before poking around in Varric's shop for a while. He must have spent the rest of the night hiding anything incriminating, because they didn't have a lot to say. Once I ventured my opinion that the thieves were Carta, they seemed ready to close the case unsolved then and there, shrugging their shoulders and telling us how lucky we were to be in one piece.

I suspected Aveline wouldn't have been impressed. I was beginning to see why her list of complaints about her colleagues just got longer every time she talked about it.

The cops were just leaving when Fenris showed up. I told him what had happened and he seemed relieved that no one was hurt.

"I'm here to help," he said.

"With the break-in?" I asked. Varric had put a sign on his door to the effect that he was closed for the week, and had gone off somewhere as soon as the police had finished talking to him. "I don't think there's a lot we can do. I don't fancy taking on the Carta without even being paid for it."

"No, I mean. I'm here to help with your work. I said I would, but I'm always too far away or you can't get in contact with me. I was thinking about it, and it makes sense that I come to you instead." He looked me right in the eye, a serious expression on his face.

"Oh. Well, come on in. Help yourself to some comics."

Fenris stayed for about an hour and then promised he'd be back tomorrow. Carver was bemused, but once he'd decided Fenris wasn't about to assassinate anyone, they'd been getting on pretty well. They could talk about guns, and I know Carver desperately wanted even a third of Fenris's style.

He was never gonna get it. But it was fun watching him hope.

The next day we even got a job, so I didn't have to watch Fenris pretend to read comics. I had noticed he had trouble, but I couldn't work out a tactful way to broach the topic. I guess he'd never been to school. Well, I hadn't been to school either, but both Ma and Father gave us all lessons, and we were better educated than most kids in Lothering.

Of all people to walk through my door, I wasn't expecting a nun. She spoke softly and had huge grey eyes.

"I'm from the eastside Lowtown Chantry. The Mother doesn't know I'm here; we've told her about this, but she says it's just nerves. We wouldn't normally-"

"All right, that's fine. We're very discreet. She need never know. Why don't you tell us what your problem is?"

"It started about a week ago," she said, her hands resting primly in her lap. "We've been noticing these people hanging around across from the Chantry. We even went to talk to them, in case they needed our help, but they would just get up and walk away when we approached. They're there all the time and it's starting to scare the younger lay sisters."

"What kind of people?" I asked.

She flicked a nervous glance towards Fenris, "Well, elves. We thought they might be thinking of stealing from the poor box." Her voice got quieter and quieter and she didn't look at Fenris.

It wasn't that the Chantry didn't like elves – in their place.

"Did anything significant happen a week ago?" I asked. "Or even anything insignificant. Anything at all."

"Well, no, not that I can think of. There are such an awful lot of them. We never see the same one twice. We're hoping you can find out what they want."

"Twenty-five silver and I'll do my best."

She paid and scurried out.

"I don't think these elves are thieves," Fenris said.

"I don't either. You spend a week casing a bank, not a poor box. Let's go and have a look at this Chantry. I ain't never been there."

The Chantry was housed in a church building like any other, although it more closely resembled the one in Lothering than the cathedral in Hightown. They were running a soup kitchen out the back, and it was lunchtime, so there were people everywhere, elves included. Fenris, Carver and I waded through the crowd, keeping an eye out for anything unusual.

Everything seemed normal for a big-city Chantry in a poor part of town. They even had some wards for the sick. I seemed to recall Anders speaking disparagingly of their aggressive attempts to convert their patients. I wasn't as fussed. Mumbling a few prayers is a small price to pay for free medicine, and Anders couldn't possibly minister to the entire city.

"You can't go back there, Sir." We were stopped by a nun with face like a crumpled map and a watch on a chain hanging out of her pocket.

I took my hat off, "I'm sorry, Sister. We're looking for my uncle. He's a bit, well, he likes to wander off. He sometimes ends hurting himself, and we were getting a bit worried about him."

Her expression softened slightly although she looked a bit puzzled by Fenris.

"I'm just here for the wine," he told her.

"What's your uncle's name?" she asked.

"Gamlen," I told her, "but he doesn't always remember it." I could see Carver biting the inside of his cheek in an effort not to laugh. I gave the nun a description that could have fit any doddering old soak, and was yet a reasonable match for Gamlen himself, as we wandered the length of the wards. I didn't pay too much attention to the patients themselves, I was just looking for anything out of the ordinary.

"You have a plague ward here?" Carver asked with mild alarm, upon spotting a closed door with a warning sign tacked to it.

"Oh, there's just one gentleman in there. The Mother takes care of him; I assure you there's no danger of an outbreak." The nun sighed. I gathered that was a question she'd heard often of late.

"Maybe you shouldn't have put a sign up," Fenris said.

"We don't want anyone wandering in by accident. Look, do you see your uncle?"

I shook my head sadly, and I emptied my pockets of change as a donation and thanked her for her time. We re-emerged into the sunshine and Carver scratched his head.

"I'm almost disappointed Gamlen wasn't there," he said.

"I didn't see anything unusual," Fenris said.

"We picked the wrong time." I stopped at the edge of the crowd and scanned it. "Hard to tell who's casing the joint and who's just waiting for soup. And now I'm hungry." I stopped. Something had caught my eye. A familiar face. "I know that elf," I murmured. "He got his face rearranged by the Winter thugs."

I started shouldering through the crowd. The elf caught my eye and bolted.

"There he goes," Fenris said, and melted off into the crowd. Carver soon followed a little less stealthily in the other direction.

I kept after our quarry. He looked like he was going to run for the tram when he spotted Fenris cutting him off. He turned for an alleyway and Carver, taking cover in a shop doorway, stuck his foot out.

Our elf went flying. He tumbled head over heels, scrambled to his feet and kept going. By the time we reached the entrance to the alleyway, he'd gone.

"Rats!" I kicked a cobblestone.

"I don't think it would have made much difference," Fenris said. "Winter's thugs couldn't get him to talk; were you planning on trying something worse than breaking his face?"

"Well, no. I think we can take his flight as an admission of guilt though. He knows he wasn't here for any legitimate purpose."

"Okay," Carver spread his hands, "can one of you please tell me who that fella was?"

I gave Carver the short version.

"So you think the Qunari are involved with this?"

"Stranger things have happened. What bothers me is that plague ward. Why make a ward for one guy? Why not just ship him to the nearest hospital? They've got the facilities for it. Something's screwy. We need to find out what."

"How do we do that?" Fenris asked.

"We find someone who's handy with a lock pick, we wait until it's dark, and we break in."

* * *

><p>That evening we couldn't find Varric. He wasn't at his shop and he wasn't at the Hanged Man. I didn't feel right bothering him anyway; he had enough on his plate. Luckily, Isabela was more than happy to help. She thought it sounded exciting.<p>

The four of us had dinner and made our way back to the Chantry. It was in darkness, but sure enough, an elf was loitering about on the street opposite.

"What do we do about him?" Carver asked.

"Nothing," I said. "I don't feel like assaulting a fella for just standing there. What's he going to do? If he summons whoever's employing him, so much the better, I reckon. That is why we're here, after all."

There was general, if not enthusiastic, agreement, and we stalked over to the Chantry. We peered in the windows, but didn't see any lights. They went to bed at a godly hour here.

The lock on the front door was hardly worthy of the name, and we crept down between two rows of snoring and coughing patients to the plague room.

"That's new," I murmured. There was a padlock the size of my fist looped through the bolt. I was pretty sure it wasn't there when we'd been here earlier.

Isabela bent her head and got to work. It took longer than any of us liked. Fenris went and peered out the front door, and when he returned he reported that the elf had gone.

To our relief, Isabela got the lock open. I held my breath, just in case it was actually a plague ward, when we opened the door. The room was furnished with little more than a cot and a chamber pot, but it was occupied.

"Maker's Breath."

Standing in the centre of the room, silently, was a Qunari. For a few moments I thought he was just an exceptionally tall human; his horns had been sawn off, and his face was hidden behind an iron mask. Heavy chains hung from his neck and wrists.

"What is that thing?" Carver asked.

"_Saarebas_," Fenris said. "A Qunari mage."

"Oh you poor bastard, what are you doing in here?" I stepped forward and started looking for a lock or a catch on his chains. He didn't move or answer me.

"Are you sure that's safe?" Carver looked up at the Qunari apprehensively.

"You can't get him out of there," Isabela said quietly. "And it wouldn't make any difference if you could."

"What is he doing here?" I asked. "The Chantry Mother had to know about this."

We could hear a vehicle pulling up outside.

"He's bait," Fenris said.

"But for who? Dammit, he can't stay here. Come with us," I told him. He took a step forward and I took one back.

"Where are you taking him, Trip?" Carver asked.

Good question. "I don't know. Back to the embassy?"

"They will kill him," Fenris said.

"Well, dammit, let's find Anders. We'll get him out of here at least. He's putting everyone in the Chantry in danger just by being here. What did the Mother think she was doing?"

Isabela just stared silently at the Qunari.

I heard another car pull up, and doors slamming. I turned and hoofed it; glancing back to make sure everyone else was too. We gave up being quiet and we heard the patients asking sleepy questions as we hurtled past. The Qunari followed without hesitation or comment.

"Gotta be a back way." I did not want to see what was coming through those doors. Cops, Templars, Qunari; it didn't matter who it was. We would be in it deep if we were caught. Behind the wards was a kind of kitchen area and we hurried through it.

"Door!" Carver pointed.

We couldn't hear the front door being opened. Maybe we were further ahead than we thought.

Carver ran smack into the back door, rebounded, unbolted it, and flung it open. We followed him out, finding ourselves in a kind of delivery area. There were sacks of grain, and boxes piled back, here as well as rubbish. We hurried away from the main street, seeking the safety of the back alleys. Our new companion was extremely conspicuous as he plodded along uncomplaining behind us.

"Left or right?" Carver skidded to a halt at the end of the alleyway.

The Qunari made the first noise I'd heard out of him all evening. I smelt burning hair as he groaned and pitched forward onto his knees.

"Are you all right?"

"Stay back!" Isabela grabbed my arm. "He's live!"

His arms and neck twitched and jolted, with every tendon straining.

Down the alleyway I could see three hulking Qunari silhouettes.

"On the roof," Fenris murmured, as he and Carver drew their guns. I spared only a glance upwards, but I could see more horned shapes carrying shotguns.

The Qunari leading the pack walking towards us was draped in what kind of looked like a telephone switchboard, all wires and tubes and things. He carried a box with a switch in his right hand. At a guess, I'd say it was on.

"You have removed the _Saarebas_ from the Chantry. I claim possession of him."

"What if he doesn't want to be possessed?"

"He follows you only because he knows no other purpose. Would you deny him this?"

"He's right," Isabela said. "It's horrible, but it's true."

"What are you going to do with him?"

"He has been unbound. The demons my now inhabit him. He must be controlled."

"He's not being controlled, he's being tortured." The smell of singed flesh was making me ill. I didn't dare take my eyes off the Qunari, but I could see the mage suffering on the ground in front of my out of the corner of my eye.

I took a deep breath, and clenched my fist.

The Qunari, to his credit, did nothing more than grunt in pain as his right hand buckled and broke around the switch, which also crumpled into a useless mass of wires.

"You are _Saarebas_? You are _Bas Saarebas_." His teeth gleamed in the low light as he snarled at me.

I took three steps towards him, walking past the mage, still crouched on the ground.

"Sarribus? Like him?" I pointed to the mage, and gave the Qunari a toothy grin of my own. "No I ain't. Not even close."

Several things happened at once. He roared and swung his other fist at me, my friends dived for cover, and I drove two fingers into the Qunari's eyes. The alleyway erupted with gunfire and I dived past the Qunari, hoping the ones on the rooftops wouldn't fire at their own officer. I guess I was right, because I didn't die.

There were three of them, although one was injured, and the other two had guns. At least until Fenris got to them. I lashed out at one before he could aim away from his superior, who was divesting himself of his electrical contraption, and Fenris barrelled into the other, glowing enough to throw shadows onto the walls of the alley. Carver was keeping the Qunari on the rooftops from poking their heads out too far, and I could see Isabela doing her best to re-tangle the Qunari officer in his wires.

A gunfight only half a block from a Chantry? You bet the cops got there fast. As soon as we heard sirens the Qunari beat a retreat, leaving us with our chained mage.

He got to his feet.

"I am unbound." It sounded like he hadn't used his voice in many years.

"You did it," Isabela breathed. She smiled at me gratefully.

"This is wrong," the Qunari mage said. "But you deserve honour. I thank your intent, even if it was wrong."

I could hear sirens getting closer, but I wouldn't have dreamt of moving from that spot.

"You're free now," I said. "We can get you out of the city; help you hide."

He shook his head, "I know what is required of me. The Qun demands I must return."

"The embassy then?"

"He accepts his death," Fenris said.

I already knew that.

"I have chosen," he said.

I wasn't convinced. But what could I do?

"I can't tell you what to do," I said. "I can't force you."

"You know of certainty, you are closer to the Qun than you admit."

"Bullshit!"

I could sense him looking at me through his mask.

"Remember this day." He raised his arms, and once again I smelled burning flesh as I turned and ran with my friends into the dark, the flickering funeral pyre throwing our shadows ahead of us.

As if I was likely to forget.


	24. Kirkwall Saints to Play Final

We managed to get lost in Lowtown. We eventually found our way back to a road we recognised, and by that time the Chantry was far behind us.

"What are you going to tell our client?" Carver asked, as we slowed to a walk.

"I don't know." I rubbed my temples, "I'm not really sure what just happened myself. Are Qunari mages common, Fenris? How on earth did he get in there?"

"Common or uncommon is hard to say, but they are never far from a controlling _Arvaarad_. We got a demonstration of what happens if they should somehow become separated. Perhaps he is a sole survivor of a battle of some kind."

I was watching Isabela. She caught my eye briefly and frowned before staring at the ground in front of her.

"Well, either way, I think I'll have to tell the Arishok about this."

"You're going to go back there?" Carver asked. "After we fought those guys? What makes you think they won't pulverise you?"

"I think I'm getting a feeling for dealing with those fellas. The Arishok isn't going to be directly concerned with a few bruised subordinates. Right, Fenris?"

"You might be pushing your luck, but I think it will hold. It's not in his interests to murder you in broad daylight. And as the _Saarebas_ himself said, you acted with certainty and conviction."

"I'm not sure I'm comfortable with the approval of people who do _that_ to their mages. And Anders thinks the Circle is bad. He doesn't know the half of it."

It was with these gloomy thoughts that we walked homewards. We walked Isabela to the Hanged Man first and she invited us in for a drink, but none of us were really in the mood.

"I just want to talk to you for a moment, Isabela." I took her arm and she let me walk her off a little ways. Carver rolled his eyes and kept going home. Fenris folded his arms and leant against the wall, staring off down the street.

"So," I said gently, "do you want to tell me what you know about that particular individual we met tonight?"

Isabela sighed and hugged herself. "I don't really know where Castillion got him. He told me he was an escapee, and given the way he'd been treated, I believed him. My job was to transport him; pretend to be nursing an invalid so people wouldn't see."

She shrugged, "I didn't really get to know him. He didn't talk. But I began to think that he'd been taken against his will, or rather, he had no will to protest. I put my ear to the ground to find out what Castillion had planned for him. When I caught a rumour about Magisters, and I realised I couldn't do it. He'd been stolen from one kind of slavery only to be sold into another."

"What did you do?" I asked.

"I set him free." She looked at me with a rueful smile, "I mean, I tried to. I ordered him to go and to do what he liked, and he went because I ordered him to. I have no idea how he ended up in that Chantry." She took a deep breath, "I never expected a happy ending for him. I guess I'm glad I know at least. I can stop wondering now."

"See, I knew there was a soft heart under that flawless exterior."

"Oh, you think you're getting to me, do you?" She laughed and kissed my cheek, "You sure you won't hang around?"

I raised my eyes. Fenris was watching us, absolutely expressionlessly. It suddenly, and perhaps belatedly, occurred to me that for his icy exterior Fenris tended to have a lot of feelings. And he generally wasn't shy about sharing them. This blank look was new, and I didn't think it meant anything good.

I smiled at Isabela, "No. I have to go."

She glanced over my shoulder at Fenris. "You _do_ have good taste," she said, releasing me with a smile and drifting away into the Hanged Man.

"Turns out she did know him," I said, falling into step beside Fenris as we left the Hanged Man.

Fenris didn't reply. We walked in silence for a while. I wracked my brains for something to break the deadlock.

"Hey, is that offer still open?" I asked. "You know, sparring."

"Yes," Fenris said. "We can go now, if you like."

I was feeling drained after the events of earlier that evening, but like hell I was going to turn Fenris down for anything. We went back to Hightown.

* * *

><p>I saw my own blood spray from my nose and splatter against the singed, yellowish wall of Fenris's living room. I managed to stagger out of the way before he landed another kick to my ribs, and raise my guard again. He'd been absolutely brutal. He'd waited for an opening and laid into me with everything he had except his lyrium. It was the most I could do to deflect or dodge some of his attacks. I was starting to wonder if he actually trying to kill me.<p>

His teeth were bared in a snarl as he flew at me.

I couldn't compete. I was almost hoping I'd see his skin light up; it would give me a reason to reach for my own magic, and maybe put us on an even footing. His foot hooked around my knee, which buckled, and he spun and kicked me, right over the spot where I'd been hit by that mage a couple of nights before.

I hit the floor face first and he put his foot on the back of my head.

"You win," I managed to get out.

He backed off and I got to my feet, blood pouring from my nose. I didn't rightly know what Fenris was doing, but it wasn't fair whatever it was. We were supposed to be fighting without the rules that had constrained us in Varric's storeroom, but I didn't think the intent was to kill each other.

I wiped the blood from my chin, watching his body language out of the corner of my eye. As soon as I saw his guard go down, I charged at him. It wasn't an elegant attack; it was a rugby tackle, and I'd been right in that he hadn't been expecting it.

My shoulder hit his midsection and we both slammed into the wall. A brief shower of plaster rained down around us. I could feel his lyrium burning against my arm and shoulder, but he wasn't using it to push back. Yet. He dug his elbows in for leverage and tried to shift me off him, but I was still bigger and heavier than he was, and more than a little worried about what he'd do to me if he got the upper hand again. He still didn't say a word.

"What the hell are you doing?" I asked through gritted teeth, as he tried to pull his arms free.

"Get off me, Hawke."

He got an arm free; he was slippery with sweat and I couldn't risk changing my grip. He brought it down on the back of my neck and I crumpled. He hauled me back by my hair, and I stopped resisting; fighting with Fenris wasn't going to get me anywhere.

He glared at me.

I looked up at him. "What did I do to deserve this?" I asked as sincerely as I could.

"I…" His eyes widened slightly and he released me. I slumped forward on my knees. "I don't know. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. This was a bad idea."

"No, Fenris." He was just leaving. Turning to walk upstairs, walk away like he always did. "Were you jealous of Isabela?" I asked.

His back stiffened. Bullseye, but I didn't exactly enjoy it. "I don't know," he repeated. "I shouldn't have. That was wrong."

I staggered to my feet, "Wait."

He turned, looking at me with utter guilt written plain across his face. He looked like he expected to be whipped and that if I did so he would just hunch his shoulders and take it without complaint.

I smiled at him. I felt the drying blood on my lips pull at my skin. "It's okay, Fenris."

"How is this okay!" he demanded. He walked over and grabbed my upper arms almost as if he was going to shake me, but his touch was as light as a feather as if he feared he'd hurt me further. "Anders says I'm a beast and I just proved it," he said bitterly. "To you, of all pe- _Why do you keep smiling like that?_"

"I forgive you."

"Why?"

"Why not?"

He let go of me and raised his hands to his forehead, "You are an impossible man."

This conversation didn't seem to be going anywhere. "Is your water still on? I'm all sticky."

"What? Yes, of course. Two doors from the master bedroom. Do you need anything?"

I waved my hand, "I'll be fine."

I cleaned myself up in Fenris's bathroom, which looked just as abandoned as the rest of the house. He didn't even have a shaving kit, I thought, and then I remembered elves didn't grow beards.

He hadn't done any permanent damage, but it looked like I was going to spend yet another week wincing every time I bent down to tie my shoes. I didn't feel bad about it. I wasn't even angry. I stared at my bruised reflection for a while and realised what I felt was relief.

Ever since Isabela had kissed me, I'd been waiting for the other shoe to drop. Fenris had just stood there stony-faced, no matter what he saw her do, and I was just glad the act had ended. Maker's Breath, I must have been crazy.

While I restored some semblance of order to my face, Fenris put his shirt back on and was sitting at the table in his room. I smiled when I saw he'd made tea, and lit a cigarette before joining him.

"I'm sorry. I let my judgement get clouded and I took it out on you. It was wrong of me," Fenris launched into what was obviously a prepared speech, "to be jealous of you. I have no reason to be. If you don't want to remain my friend I understand, it's no less than what I deserve." Disgust was evident in his voice and the curl of his lip, all of it directed inward towards himself.

I sank into a chair, thinking for a few moments, trying to figure out exactly what I wanted to say. "You can't help feeling what you feel. If I'd known I'd wouldn't have- I mean, I'd have turned her down." Somehow.

"Why?"

I didn't meet his eyes. "Why do you think?" I muttered.

We stewed in one of the most awkward silences I've ever had to endure. I thought I could hear Fenris's watch ticking in his pocket. Might have been his heart. Or mine.

"I still want to fight," I said eventually. "When you're not in a lather. You beat me without even trying and I don't like that, even from you."

"Trip, I'm a trained Tevinter assassin. I'm always going to beat you."

"So if the Templars start employing Tevinter assassins, I should just give up and hand myself in?" It was a relief to find a new topic of conversation and actually meet his eyes again. "Besides, I think you're overconfident. I nearly beat you, remember."

"You cheated!"

"Didn't you say we weren't playing by the Queen's rules?"

"All right, when would be a good time?"

"Andrasday morning," I said promptly. "Beats attending Chantry service. And then," I stood up and grinned at him, "I can take you out for lunch, as thanks."

He looked like he was going to protest for a moment, and then he nodded, "That seems fair. More than fair. Thank you. I won't let anything like this happen again, I swear it." His hands curled over his knees. "I have to, I have to fix myself," he said, almost to himself.

I bid him goodnight and left before the conversation got strange again.

* * *

><p>The next morning I went back to Hightown to visit the Qunari embassy. The Arishok greeted me courteously enough, and was not surprised when I told him what had happened at the Lowtown Chantry the night before.<p>

"Holding the _Saarebas_ in the Chantry was a deliberate act of provocation," the Arishok said. "By those who would claim to represent your highest ideals."

"Someone in the Chantry itself?" I asked.

The Arishok nodded, "We are not to be baited like bears. We have waited, and we will continue to wait. They will be disappointed that their plan failed. No doubt they will try again." The Arishok generally wore an expression I'd describe as one of distaste but I sensed, for all his words, this incident with the Saarebas was trying his patience.

"Do you want me to try and find this individual?" I found myself asking. "That is what I do, after all."

"And what would the point of that be? If you find this person there are dozens more who would gladly take their place. Will you find every human who would see us gone, or dead? Would you hold your entire city accountable? Or do you think you are capable of demanding justice on our behalf?"

He had a point. He had so many points I needed an umbrella to keep them all off me so I could think.

"I understand," I said.

"I doubt that." He almost looked amused. "Nevertheless, Hawke, you continue to show potential where the rest of this vile, degraded city does not. You are not weak, even as your beliefs weaken you."

Compliments only turn my head if it's a pretty girl saying them. "If Kirkwall disgusts you so much, why are you here? Why do you persist with this embassy?"

"Because the Qun demands it."

Right.

Personally, I'd have told the Qun to beat it, but I decided not to share this with the Arishok. I left the Qunari embassy feeling slightly unnerved. When I had first met the Arishok he had impressed upon me a great sense of gravity and control. He was now no less impressive, but his words were harsher, and I sensed resentment simmering in that opaline gaze.

The incident at the Chantry had taught this at least; a great many things relied on the Arishok's self-control. I could only hope the Qun changed its mind sooner rather than later. I was tempted to go after whoever had organised the incident myself; as far as I was concerned deliberately goading the Qunari and putting innocents in their way for a political cause should have been a crime worthy of some serious jail time. But the Arishok had been right in that we were both equally powerless to get back at the aggressors, and to try and do so would play into their hands.

So I wished horrible things on them, and returned to my office.


	25. Meridith: Starkhaven Mages Mercy Offer

Fenris showed up at his usual time the next morning, but we didn't have a lot to say to each other. We exchanged greetings and he buried his nose in a comic book for half an hour before bidding me farewell and leaving again. Varric's shop was still shut; he hadn't taken down his sign and I could see a small pile of mail on the other side of the front door. It didn't look like he'd been back for a while. At least we hadn't seen hide or hair of the Carta since the night of the break in.

The nun sent a note to say that my services were no longer required, which saved me from having to come up with some sort of explanation at least. Or give her a refund.

After a week or two of nothing much, we were behind on our rent again. Carver got sulky and tempers in Gamlen's house frayed. What we really needed was a job.

We got one.

You could have knocked me over with a feather when Professor Tethras pushed open my door and stomped inside, reaching up to hang his shapeless hat and tweed coat on my hatstand.

"You're the detective, aren't you?" he asked me brusquely.

I told him I was, and invited him to sit down as Fenris vacated the other chair. I heard Carver in the living room get to his feet at the sound of the door and then halt when he heard Bartrand's voice. His first meeting with the Professor hadn't gone well, and I was glad he had the sense to stay out of sight for now.

"I want you to find my brother," Bartrand said.

I sat up straighter in my chair. "Varric's missing?"

"The fact that you hadn't noticed doesn't speak well for your detecting skills."

"Well, he did leave a note saying he'd be away. I saw no reason to disbelieve him."

"He's not at his shop, he's not at that disgusting speakeasy, and he hasn't shown up to our meetings for three days now. It's important that I talk to him." Bartrand scowled and shifted in his chair. "I don't need to know what he gets up to, but I need to find him and talk to him. Face to face, preferably."

"I did hear he'd been having some problems recently," I said. "Most of them yours."

Bartrand's eyes narrowed, "Do you always talk back to your clients?"

I changed the subject. "Have you spoken to the police?"

"By the Stone, why would I do that? No police. This is a family matter, and your discretion is appreciated."

"Discretion is my watchword," I assured him. "And twenty-five silver a day, plus expenses, is my price."

The Professor frowned at me, "I thought Varric was your friend."

"He is. We often discuss business together." I smiled.

Bartrand ran his palm over his forehead and muttered to himself. Eventually he dug through his pockets and handed me ten silver. "You'll get the rest later."

It was, unfortunately, the most lucrative prospect I'd seen all week, and truth be told I'd have gone and looked for Varric anyway.

"All right," I picked up a pen. "When was the last time you saw Varric?"

"You're not going to write this down, are you?" he asked me with a slightly horrified look.

I put down my pen.

"Professor, are you in some kind of trouble?" I asked.

"Just concern yourself with my brother," he said. "He was meant to visit me at my office the day before yesterday for lunch. When he didn't show up, I assumed he was being careless as usual. I've called and sent messages, and then I find his shop has been closed for a week and a half. If he's run off with my money-"

"Why don't you tell me about the money?" I interrupted him.

"What money?" he said warily. "There is no money, that's the point. The family needs Varric. I need Varric."

"I sense the brotherly love. Is there anything else you can tell me?"

Bartrand shook his head.

"Did Varric tell you that the Carta broke into his shop last week?" I asked him.

The colour drained from the dwarf's face. I guess he hadn't.

"The Carta was here?" he asked.

"Yes. My brother and I saw them off before they took anything. Professor, if I'm to find Varric, you need to be honest with me, and you need to tell me everything."

Bartrand wasn't listening. He got to his feet, and I could see his hands were shaking.

"I have to- Dammit, Varric! Why have you left this all to me?" He turned and practically ran out, before stumbling back up the steps to collect his hat and coat.

When he'd actually gone, Carver opened the door and entered the room. He looked at the little pile of silver on my desk.

"It looks like the Professor has more money troubles than we do."

"No kidding." I got to my feet, "This is bad."

"I wonder why Varric didn't tell Bartrand about the break-in," Fenris said.

"He might have thought he'd overreact. He certainly seems to be panicking now."

"The Carta might have kidnapped Varric."

"Maybe, but why? Bartrand is the one that owes them the money. If they were going to ransom him, why haven't they contacted Bartrand by now?"

We had plenty of questions, and so I collected my hat and we went to the Hanged Man in search of answers.

* * *

><p>Thanks to Varric we were all beginning to acquire the status of regulars, and the barman was only too happy to talk to us. Varric hadn't been around for a couple of days, he said, although his crazy brother had shown up and shouted at them and demanded to be let into his room.<p>

Hm.

"Any chance we could take a look at Varric's room?" I asked.

He considered for a few moments, "You're in there all the time anyway. I won't think it strange if you just walk on up."

"Thanks man."

"Hey, he's not in any trouble, is he?"

"I hope not."

We made our way upstairs to the private rooms. In the hallway one of the bony young women who did general cleaning work around the Hanged Man was trying not to cry as she desultorily swept cigarette butts off the worn carpet.

"Are you all right?" I asked her as we walked past.

She jumped upon being addressed, and wiped her nose on her sleeve. "I didn't do it," she said sullenly. "Why would I steal a stupid washcloth? They can search my house and they won't find nothin'."

"Why would they search your house for a washcloth?" I asked.

"It was one of them fancy ones wasn't it? With his initials and all. Oh, I wish Varric would come back, he'd set them straight." It looked like she was going to start crying again.

"Wait, this is Varric's washcloth? He has monogrammed towels?" If the situation hadn't been so potentially grave, that would have been the most amusing thing I'd heard all week.

The woman nodded.

"Is anything else missing?" I asked.

"I don't know. I don't touch his things. I just make the bed and sweep and take his washin' downstairs."

"Could it just be misplaced?" Carver asked.

"I looked everywhere!" She resumed sweeping, "I have to get back to work. If they catch me chattin' they'll fire me."

We left her to it.

"The mystery deepens," I said.

"You don't really think the missing washcloth is related, do you?" Carver asked. "How does that even make sense?"

"It doesn't have to make sense yet," Fenris said. "We can't discount anything just because it appears trivial."

I couldn't stop myself smiling. Someone had been reading my detective comics, it seemed.

We knocked on Isabela's door on our way past, in case she wanted in on the mystery, but she wasn't in. I was quietly relieved; I didn't really want to have to face her with Fenris around just yet.

Varric, out of some perverse faith in the inherently good nature of the patrons of the Hanged Man, never locked his door. He claimed it didn't even have a key. So we opened it and went right in. His rooms were always in a state of organised chaos. He had a desk under the window with a battered typewriter on it, and for once the floor around it wasn't littered with screwed up bits of paper.

Carver went for the desk, Fenris opened the closet, and I decided to try the bathroom.

"Oh, come on," Carver said, rolling his eyes as I ducked through the door. "What are you expecting to find?"

"Hey, if I find the washcloth, I can at least get that poor girl with the broom out of trouble," I called over my shoulder.

Nothing seemed out of place. And yes, all the towels had VT stitched on the corners. It might have been for health reasons; I'm not sure I'd want to use the Hanged Man's house linen either.

It was a strange experience, poking around professionally in a friend's bathroom. It wasn't really pleasant. I kept hoping Varric would walk through the door and ask us what in the world we were all doing.

There was one frosted glass window in the bathroom, quite high up. I noticed it because it was open. I wasn't even sure Varric could have reached that high up without standing on a chair. I peered at it for a while, and then went and fetched a chair myself to get a better look.

"Trip! What are you doing up there?"

I nearly fell out the window. I heard Fenris hurry over and grab my feet as I made an equally fast grab for the windowsill. I was sitting half hanging out of Varric's bathroom window, trying to ignore the three story drop to the ground beneath me as I examined the awning over the window.

"I'm looking for clues," I called back.

"You look like a monkey," Carver pointed out helpfully, drawn by our conversation.

"Fenris, can you pull me back in? I think I've seen enough, and I'm getting dizzy."

I don't really like heights.

Fenris hauled on my legs and I wiggled back inside. It wasn't a very large window and had been a bit of a squeeze getting out of it in the first place.

"I hope you found something," Fenris said, staring at me as I straightened my suit and brushed off a few cobwebs; I never said the cleaning service at the Hanged Man was any _good_.

"Yeah, uh, Varric's been robbed. Well, broken in to. Look, this window hasn't been opened in years; a lot of paint's cracked off very recently. It was open when I got in here. When I had a closer look at it, I could see where the wood's been splintered. Someone inserted something to open the catch from the outside. Something thin, like a dagger. Shaved off more paint, too."

Carver and Fenris listened attentively. I was beginning to feel like I was giving a lecture.

"Anyway, I was up there trying to work out how they managed to get to the window. As far as I can tell, they climbed up a drainpipe and jumped onto the awning. It's only tin; they're lucky it didn't just snap right off under their weight. It's also filthy. All the soot and grease from the kitchen below made a nice layer. There are smudged handprints all over it. And a footprint."

My fingers were greasy and dirty too, and I washed my hands. Fenris's jaw was hanging open slightly, and I was more than happy to summarise for him.

"So, this person is not only pretty fearless, they're light. And their feet are about this long." I held up my hands. "They didn't wear shoes for this job, but I wouldn't either if I was climbing a drainpipe."

"A girl," Carver said. "Or a child."

"Maybe."

"But why would they climb all that way to steal a washcloth?" Fenris asked. "And why didn't they go in the door? It's unlocked."

"They might not have known it wasn't locked. Is anything else missing?"

Fenris shook his head, "One set of clothes maybe. His hat. Bianca, of course; if he was kidnapped, it wasn't in his sleep."

"It doesn't look like it," Carver said. "All I found was a lot of weird stories, and a diary."

"Anything much in it?" I asked.

"Appointments and phone numbers, strangely enough." Carver handed it over. "And everyone's birthdays."

Trust Varric to keep track.

The latest entry was presumably his meeting with Bartrand, which he hadn't shown up for: _B, University, Noon. _I flipped back a page to the last day Varric had been seen at the Hanged Man.

_3:30_

"He did meet someone. Doesn't say who or where though."

"What now?" Carver asked.

"The only other person who knows anything about this business is Bartrand."

"I don't think he's going to talk to us," Carver said.

"We could make him talk," Fenris suggested.

"No! No glowy stuff. Not on clients; it's bad for business. Somewhere in that shrivelled heart of his, he must care for Varric." I wasn't even convincing myself. "Aveline's back on duty, isn't she?" I mused.

"Bartrand said no police," Fenris said.

"If we can't coax the information out of him, we'll have to scare it out of him. He doesn't need to know Aveline's not working officially."

"Will Aveline?"

"She will," I said confidently. "This is for Varric."

* * *

><p>Aveline wasn't very happy about it, but when we explained the situation, she agreed to accompany us to the university to pay Bartrand a visit. She'd been out on patrol, and it had taken us quite a long time to find her. We grabbed an extremely late lunch at the diner near the police headquarters, rubbing shoulders with detectives and cops coming off duty while Aveline signed out for the day.<p>

The sky was turning red and streaked with grey clouds in the west when we finally arrived at the university. We remembered where Bartrand's office was, but when we arrived it was locked and silent.

"Now what?" Aveline said. "You're not thinking of breaking in, are you?"

"I am," I said defensively. "Varric went to a meeting three days ago that he hasn't returned from. I don't feel like dicking around any longer. Don't worry, I'll bet you anything you like Bartrand won't say a word."

Aveline folded her arms and turned her back on us.

"Do you know how to pick a lock?" Carver asked.

"Nope." I hit the door with the palm of my hand and the lock splintered.

We didn't risk turning a light on, instead using Aveline's police torch to hurriedly shuffle through the papers on Bartrand's desk. Unfortunately, Professors collected an awful lot of paperwork.

"What if we don't find anything?" Carver asked, pulling open a filing cabinet.

"Maker's Breath, Carver, can you be optimistic for once in your life?"

"Wait," Fenris said. We all froze, and looked at him as he held a couple of typed pages. "Well, it might be nothing," he said, looking suddenly embarrassed. "I just noticed today's date here."

"Well, what is it?" Aveline asked.

Fenris's mouth opened and closed as he squinted at the letters.

"Do you need the torch?" Carver asked.

I stepped around behind Fenris and looked over his shoulder. I grinned, "Well, well, well. That is interesting."

Aveline folded her arms, "Will you two cut out the vaudeville and tell us what you're gawking at?"

I took the papers from Fenris and turned them around so Aveline could see. "Bartrand just took out a very big insurance policy on his warehouse down near the docks. As Fenris noticed, it's dated today."

"So Bartrand has a warehouse," Aveline said thoughtfully. "I wonder what he keeps in it."

I tossed the papers back on the desk, "I say we go and have a look before it meets with an unfortunate accident."

"We'll make a detective of you yet," Carver said, patting Fenris on the back as he walked past.

I caught Fenris's eye as we walked out and he smiled at me. I winked at him and he dropped his gaze.


	26. City Library Refurbished after Shootout

"Trip, if the Carta really are involved, you should report this officially, and hang whatever Bartrand wants," Aveline said. "You've got nothing to gain by protecting him, and Varric could be in real danger by now."

"Aveline, the police already know. I came clean about the Carta after Varric's shop was broken in to a week ago. I haven't seen a badge since."

We were riding the tram back to Lowtown, jostled and bumped on all sides by commuters reading the evening papers and discussing the weekend ahead. Aveline had already bruised someone's ribs for putting a hand on her backside, and every time we went round a corner the dwarf crammed in next to me would accidentally poke me in the ribs with his umbrella. At least he apologised.

Aveline's shoulders dropped. She knew I was right. I felt bad for her; it couldn't have been easy being one of the few honest cops with any spine in this town.

"Cheer up," I told her, "maybe there'll be another commendation in it for you. How many do you need before they make you sergeant anyway?"

She snorted, "It doesn't work like that, Trip."

Fenris spoke up, "Maybe not the police, but we might need more help. There's only so much four of us can do."

I nodded, "Let's round everyone up."

When we finally got off the cable-car, I sent Carver off to fetch Isabela, Fenris to look for Merrill and I took the shortest route to Anders' clinic. When we returned to Gamlen's house for an early dinner, only Fenris turned up alone.

"Merrill wasn't in," he said.

"She might be walking in the park again," I said. "We can't afford to wait for her." Her walks could take hours.

Ma obviously hadn't expected so many people over for dinner, and while she sliced extra bread and shelled more peas, Aveline and Fenris went out and bought fried chicken to supplement Ma's curried flounder and donuts for dessert. Say what you like about Kirkwall, the fish here was always cheap and when times were lean Ma did her best to get creative with them.

We gave up trying to fit around the kitchen table and sat in the living room, gents sitting on the floor and the ladies on the chairs, although Gamlen grumbled about it. For once, Fenris and Anders weren't fighting; Varric was a friend to them both and they'd put aside their differences. It meant they hardly said a word as they ate, but at least it was peaceful.

Isabela was kicking herself for not noticing he'd been gone for such a long time.

"I just thought I kept missing him, you know? It's not like we keep office hours."

"What's the point of having a division specifically set up to combat organised crime when they simply ignore things they think are too hard?" Aveline remained deeply unimpressed with her colleagues and dissected her chicken angrily.

"What exactly are we going to do?" Carver asked.

"We'll try Bartrand's warehouse first. I want to know what he's got in there. If we can't turn up any clues, we take the fight to the Carta."

"Trip, you promise me you'll be careful," Ma said. She didn't try and tell us not to go.

"I don't think there's anything in the city the folks in this room can't handle if they put their minds to it," I said proudly.

Isabela laughed. "See," she said, "I told you we were a gang."

"You won't be satisfied until Trip's antics get us all killed, will you Leandra?" Gamlen wasn't convinced.

After we finished the donuts and dusted the sugar off our fingers, we headed for the docks, Horse included.

* * *

><p>It was a strange evening. A faint, acrid haze clung to everything, and when we briefly caught a glimpse of the harbour below us, we could see smoke billowing into the otherwise clear evening sky.<p>

By the time the second fire engine thundered past us, its bell ringing furiously, we were picking up the pace and discarding our cigarettes, our shoes clattering on the steep cobbled streets. We had to slow down when we arrived at the docks proper as the streets and pavements grew crowded with people pouring from the cheap doss houses and hotels and speakeasies to see what was going on.

There was a fire somewhere, and as entertainment went it was both free and exciting. Even the dolls on the street corners were giving up and joining the crowd. There was a kind of festival atmosphere.

We elbowed and shoved and took shortcuts down alleyways as the air grew thicker. I glanced up, but I couldn't see the stars any more, although I don't know if that was because of the smoke in the sky or the water in my eyes.

Aveline kept pace with me. "You don't think Bartrand was fool enough-"

I looked at her. Bartrand was fool enough for anything, as far as I was concerned.

By the time we had to slow to a walk, we were very close. Ash flaked down around us, and I could see sparks flung forty feet into the sky over the tops of the nearest buildings. I could hear the crackle of flames, and the shouts of the firefighters trying to keep people back.

Folks trying to escape were meeting the folks who'd come to watch, and the crowd seethed and swore at each other.

When we finally managed to see what the fuss was about – standing on our toes and peering over the heads of the people in front - the fire trucks were pumping seawater over nearby buildings, trying to prevent the fire from spreading.

They'd given up on the source. The monster.

It was a warehouse, a huge square building squatting on the waterfront like a toad. As I watched a window exploded, showering glass across the street as a fireball rolled lazily out of it and licked up the side to the blazing roof. The crowd cheered. The noise was indescribable.

The flames had seized one end of a nearby gin mill, and the proprietor was all but coming to blows with the fire-fighters as he desperately tried to get back in and save his illegal stock.

But even above it all, I thought I heard two gunshots.

"Come on!" I shouted over the din, and beckoned everyone to follow me, as I doubted they'd actually heard what I'd said. We weren't gonna get anywhere from this side unless we acquired wings and fireproof suits. We turned and dived back into the crowd. I led the others in a wide circle around the warehouse, aware that the buildings next to it could go up at any time. They were all mostly wood, and Maker knew what kind of flammable materials were piled up inside them.

One street away, it was quieter. We splashed through puddles as the salt spray from the fire trucks arced over nearby buildings and pattered down around us like rain. Isabela said she wished she'd brought a parasol. The back of the warehouse was still mostly intact, although smoke poured from every crack and flames licked at the roof.

"We're too late," Aveline said. "Whatever Bartrand had in there, it's going up in smoke."

"There is a bright side," Anders pointed out. "We could have been inside when he set the fire."

"I heard gunshots," I said. "I'm sure of it."

"I could have been anything, Trip," Fenris said. "Exploding bottles or glass. Even green wood under that much heat and pressure can explode like a pistol shot."

I took a deep breath and wished I hadn't as I coughed violently. "Well, you may be right," I said, blinking tears out of my eyes. "Who'd need to fire a gun in a burning building? It's not like there's anything we can do anyway."

It galled me that Bartrand had, almost literally, burned his bridges. We were still no closer to finding Varric. I held my handkerchief over my nose, and waved for everyone to go. There was nothing more we could do here until the fire had burned itself out.

I'd barely turned my back when the side of the warehouse splintered open, and a motor burst through what was once a doorway, skidded over the sidewalk and bounced over the gutter. We hauled ourselves out of the way as the driver floored it and tore off down the street.

I didn't get a good look at any of the occupants, but I'd seen enough to note they were all dwarves.

"Carta?" Carver asked, as we regrouped.

"Definitely." Isabela nodded. "I think you were right about those gunshots after all."

"But what or who were they shooting?" I asked. I peered into the hole that the car had left, but all I could see was smoke and sparks. As I watched, a beam fell across the opening, smouldering at one end.

I felt someone grab my arm. Anders.

"You're not seriously thinking of going in there, are you?" he asked hoarsely.

Varric was a true friend. Would he do the same for me? I don't know. But he wasn't me. He couldn't do what I could do. He couldn't draw upon the same power I could.

I don't believe in fate. I don't really believe the Maker has a plan, not on the small scale. Not for just one man. But sometimes, I wonder if I was born a mage for a reason. It don't make a difference either way. We're dealt a hand and we play it the best we can.

The Carta were in there for a reason. They fired their guns for a reason. They'd stayed in that burning building until it was almost too late for them for a reason.

I felt sick.

Might have been the smoke, might have been sheer fear.

The others were looking at me.

"I'll come with-" Aveline started to offer, and I held up my hand. If I asked, they'd probably have all followed me. Fenris had been right; I had power over people, and at times like this it frightened me.

"It'll be easier on my own," I said.

"Trip, how the hell do you expect to even get in there?" Carver asked, looking more scared than I think he realised.

I looked up at the warehouse and held out my hand.

"Somebody give me a gun."

"Trip are you sur-" Carver cut himself off as Fenris wordlessly placed his automatic in my palm.

If you're the kind of person who's inclined to do that kind of thing, you might wander into a library and have a look at the encyclopaedia there. I did once and looked up all kinds of things. You might find yourself reading up on all the brainy stuff, about how force depends on mass and acceleration.

And then, if you're still interested, you might turn to the section on guns. Let me tell you, a bullet don't weigh much but lead is pretty heavy for its size. And if your encyclopaedia is any good, it might tell you just how fast a gun fires its bullets. If you stop and think about it, that bullet's starting at zero. That's a lot of acceleration. Remember what I said about force?

If you're with me so far, you might be inclined to act on your knowledge.

You might want to run and hide.

Because someone just gave a force mage a gun.


	27. Docks in Flames! Buildings Destroyed

_It was a crisp Autumn afternoon. The ground was carpeted in yellow leaves, and my nose stung with cold as I crept through the small patch of woodland that separated our farm from the Crages'. I was hunting hare._

_At least, that's what I told myself, but any reason would do. I just wanted to be like I had seen my father so many times, steady and sure, striding out into the woodlands with his shotgun over his arm, only to return later with snipe or hare or ducks. Someday that would be me, and at ten years old I figured it was time I started practicing._

_I was allowed to shoot at old tin cans, and a target that Father had painted on a stump, so I wasn't exactly breaking the rules by being out with the gun. Not exactly obeying them, either. I hadn't asked, so I hadn't been told 'no'._

_At the edge of the woods, I finally found my quarry. Several hares were cropping grass at the edge of the Crages' field, their long ears alert for danger. I raised the gun and fitted the stock against my shoulder, just as my father had taught me, squeezing one eye shut and peering down the length of the barrel, still slightly too unwieldy for me to balance easily. Father said I'd grow into it. I didn't want to wait._

_I braced myself and squeezed the trigger. I was ready for the noise and getting used to the kick as the gun recoiled into my shoulder. The hares took off; I could see their ears above the grass as they bolted. I'd missed._

_Fire again._

_I pumped the slide and chambered a new round before lowering my head to the sites again, tracking the hares. If I couldn't hit them when they were still, how could I hit them now they were running?_

_Use your magic._

_I can't believe I didn't think of it before. Instead of wasting hours shooting at jam tins, I could control the bullet. No one's around, it's perfectly safe to use a bit of magic._

_I frowned and concentrated. It still didn't come completely naturally to me, but power rippled down my arm. I squeezed the trigger. _

_I wasn't prepared. Nothing could have prepared me. The sheer force was like a bolting horse, and all I could do was hang on for dear life, even as my own power made it stronger and wilder. I heard an almighty roar in my mind; I felt triumph as well as fear. This was me, this was my power. I wasn't just a ragged farm kid, I was a god._

_Or a demon._

_I could feel it beside me, calm, pleased, friendly. It offered to steady me, reassure me, and encourage me. Did it wear the face of my father? I'm not sure. My magic bullet was tearing up grass and clods of earth, and blood- _

_That was a rush. It's okay kid, control is just within your grasp._

_Oh Maker, what have I done? What if I can't stop it?_

_I can stop it. Just accept a bit of help._

_No. Stop._

_Stop!_

_The Crages' field was a wasteland. Great gouges had been carved into the earth, and dust still hung as a sunlit haze in the air. At the edges of these wounds, small flames licked at the grass, slow burning without a breath of wind to fan them._

_It took me a few seconds to notice the pain._

_I dropped the gun; the metal was as hot as a stove top. My hands were wet with blood and broken blisters. I clenched them into fists and refused to look at them. _

_There was this sound. This awful, painful, gut wrenching sound. _

_The cows were screaming. At least, some of them were. Most had bolted over the hill. I staggered forward, stumbling on the uneven clods of earth towards the first red and black and white shape. I made myself look, I couldn't turn away. Her hindquarters had exploded, been burned away, turned into fine mist. I'd felt it from the other side. She didn't realise she was already dead._

_I turned and ran._

_There was only one man who could do anything now._

_My father was mending a fence, whistling to himself. My head felt huge and hot, and I fell to my knees in front of him and vomited. _

_I felt his rough hands first on my head and then on my shoulders as he stood me up, looked me in the eye, and told me to show him. So I did. I walked back across our field, around the bales of hay at the far end. _

_I didn't make any excuses. I don't think my father even asked for an explanation. He was a mage and he knew what the result of my foolish excursion had been. He picked up the gun, searched my pockets for shells, and fired it. _

_The cattle were quiet at last._

_He took me back to our farm and sat me down on the chopping block out behind the woodshed. He started talking to me. There were questions, I think, in among the words. I remember answering. He still had the shotgun in the crook of his arm._

_I wasn't game to open my fingers, I was scared that I'd burned my hands away, that I'd open them an the flesh would just fall off, leaving bones. Eventually I raised my head to him._

_I asked him if he was going to thrash me._

_He rested the gun against the stack of wood, dropped to his knees, and wrapped his arms around me._

_A couple years later I realised what he had been prepared to do that afternoon. Why he'd kept holding the gun._

_I didn't want to be held. A thrashing might have eased my conscience some, but I was given no relief on that front. He took me back into the house, and Ma gently opened my fingers and encased my hands in salve and bandages._

_And then we packed. I couldn't even help with my hands bandaged, so I had to sit and watch as my parents divided their possessions into that they would take and that they would leave. We loaded up the wagon, harnessed the horses, and drove our cattle before us as we went in search of a new home, Ma trying to make it sound like an adventure to Carver and Bethany._

_Father took the money tin hidden underneath the kitchen cupboard and left fully half our banknotes under a stone on top of a post out the front of the Crages' farm._

_I vowed I'd never fire a gun again._

* * *

><p>A lot of it is in our heads. Magic, I mean. Half the trick to doing magic is convincing yourself that it's possible. I didn't need to do anything; as soon as my fingers closed around Fenris's gun, I could feel the potential inside me building like a thunderstorm. I could sense the force of my breath leaving my lungs and feel my own weight pressing my feet against the ground.<p>

And the gun.

Its sheer potential made the hair on my arms stand up. The slightest tremor of my hand could cause an earthquake. I wondered if I was glowing. There had to be something, because everyone took a step back from me and I didn't care to read their expressions too closely.

I don't know why Anders was looking so surprised. He'd practically done the same thing in the Chantry cathedral.

I could hear the demons whispering in my head, uncoiling, and smiling with welcome to see me so far out of my shell. Pride. I had pride. I needed pride. I had to believe I wouldn't screw this up. But I didn't need any help. I was walking the ragged edge of disaster; on one side the abyss that would leave nothing but a smoking crater, and on the other the waiting arms of the demons, who would release something much, much worse.

I had six shots with which to remake the world. I visualised the razor thin path ahead of me, and took my first step.

I raised the gun and fired it. I gritted my teeth as I felt once again the mad, overwhelming force of a gunshot. The air was ripped from my lungs and the world spun for a moment as I wrapped my mind around what I had unleashed, wrapped my magic around it, and played it out.

The smouldering beam was swept aside like a dead leaf, and the smoke and sparks curled away from the tunnel of force I'd bored into the burning warehouse. I didn't dare look away and risk losing an instant of concentration.

I followed my bullet into the warehouse.

It was hot enough to instantly raise a sweat on my brow and oddly enough quite dark, given it was on fire. I was slightly disappointed to see that the warehouse wasn't full of illicit goods, and in fact I spotted only a few wooden crates piled up in the centre of the room through the smoke. The front of the warehouse looked too far gone to investigate; and I didn't want to risk alerting anyone outside to the fact that there was a barely-controlled mage poking around.

I walked over to the crates, still moving slowly and deliberately as if my pockets were full of nitro-glycerine. The ceiling above me cracked and popped and smoked, and my finger hovered over the trigger in case I had to shoot a chunk of burning building before it cracked my skull open.

One of the crates had been split open and some of the contents had spilled across the floor. It looked like clay. Soil. It was a bright, sickly yellow. I knelt down and stretched out a hand towards it. My fingertips prickled strangely, not quite like how lyrium usually felt.

"What the hell is this stuff?"

"Trip! Don't!"

I snatched my hand back and stood up. That had been, without a doubt, Merrill's voice.

"Merrill! Where are you?"

"The office at the front. Don't come in here, it's dangerous."

No kidding. The energy from my first shot had spent itself and I held my sleeve in front of my face as I stumbled forward. If Merrill was somewhere in front of me – and why was she here again? – I couldn't risk firing. I almost visualised what might happen and hurled the mental image away.

I stumbled mostly blind through the smoke, demons roaring in my ears. The heat was incredible. I finally found a wall, and it was hot to the touch. I could see flames licking through just under the ceiling. I picked a direction and followed the wall, looking for a door.

"Trip." It sounded like Merrill was crying. Hell with this. I raised the gun again and pointed it at the wall.

I fired, and the wall parted like curtains on a stage as I forced the gun's power out to the side rather than forwards. Wood splintered and buckled, metal snapped and sensed more windows breaking. I'm quite sure the crowd outside was cheering, but I couldn't hear them. I staggered, and my knees were suddenly weak. I coughed and nearly choked as my nose filled with blood. My magic was being ripped out of my mind in great chunks every time I fired the gun, and it wasn't doing the rest of me any good.

It felt like I was being kicked in the stomach, every time.

I looked upon a vision of hell. The fire had started here, and I was confronted with a wall of flames. A bubble of air was all that was left, about three feet high. Inside it were Merrill and Varric.

Merrill clung to her parasol blade, the point of which formed the apex of the bubble. Blood poured from deep cuts in her arms, poured _upward,_sustaining her magic. Sorry, she was mouthing, staring at me with a tear and blood streaked face.

Varric lay on the floor in front of her as if dead.

I fired my gun. I didn't even give myself time to brace myself.

I could feel Merrill's magic, dark and coppery now, brush against my own as I forced the heat and flames and ash away from my friends, just for a moment. I staggered forward towards them as Merrill pulled herself to her feet.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry."

I could only cough and wave my hand feebly in response as I reeled like a drunk. I collapsed to my knees beside Varric, feeling the weight of the building bearing down on the dome of force I had erected. I'd knocked out one of the last remaining interior walls; the entire thing was about to come down.

Varric had been shot. Twice. Merrill had bundled up her coat and pressed it against his side in an attempt to bandage one of the wounds, and had cut a length off Varric's shirt and wrapped it around his leg. He was still breathing.

Everything felt like so much effort. As if we were moving underwater, we each grabbed one of Varric's arms, and lifted him between us. He didn't regain consciousness as we moved him.

I'd only fired three shots, but I knew I didn't have more than another one in me. I had to make it count.

The gun felt like it weighed a thousand pounds. My hand shook as I raised it. I don't know how, but I managed to refuse all help.

"Go, go!" Merrill shouted as part of the roof gave way, showering us all in sparks.

I pulled the trigger. I couldn't do much more than just follow the bullet, punching a tunnel through, hopefully to the street.

I gripped Varric tighter and Merrill and I tried to run, dragging our friend between us. I caught a glimpse of what I hoped was open air, freedom, and it looked like miles away. I nearly fell, scrambling onwards, my vision darkening at the edges.

"Trip!"

Aveline?

"Over here!" Merrill called.

I was dimly aware of figures approaching. Our friends, barrelling down the ephemeral path of magic I'd laid through the collapsing warehouse, hands outstretched to us.

"Varric's been shot." I heard Merrill speak as if from far away. I saw Aveline bend down and lift the dwarf over her shoulder as Anders pressed his palm briefly against Varric's ribs. As Varric's weight was lifted off my left arm, Fenris appeared under my right, taking his gun from my nerveless fingers and wrapping his arm around my back.

"I've got you," I heard him say. I couldn't understand what he was talking about, and I stared dazedly at the way his hair fell over his eyes and wondered why he was so beautiful.

Maker, couldn't I just have a rest here? What in the world was the hurry?

I was jolted in the general direction of my senses when Carver grabbed my other arm. Isabela hauled Merrill away, and we ran. Or at least, some of us did. I'm not sure my feet did more than uselessly paddle the ground.

Horse was practically tying himself in a knot, frantic, when we stumbled out into open air. Carver must have ordered him to stay.

We were presumably clear of the warehouse when Fenris squeezed me fiercely, his jaw set and his eyes bright. It occurred to me he really didn't know his own strength sometimes. It's a good thing they build Fereldans tough, I thought as I finally fell into a very dark, very deep hole.


	28. Dramatic Raid on Carta Hideout

Someone was touching my face. I could feel magic flowing into my smoke-ravaged sinuses and lungs. Something told me this had happened before, and this was only the latest in a series of treatments.

The hand rested on my cheek for a moment.

I opened my eyes. They stung. I stared blearily at my own ceiling for a moment before movement caught my eye and I focused on that instead.

It was Anders.

He smiled at me, "Welcome back."

"Mm." I frowned at him, quite sure there were a lot of questions I wanted to ask, but none of them were coming to mind.

"You've been asleep for a day and a half," Anders said. "Varric's going to be okay. He's going to be laid up longer than you are though."

Right, those were the questions. Well done, Anders. "'M better already." I mumbled, "Thanks, Anders."

"Is that Trip?" I heard Ma call from the apartment. "Is he awake?" she added in a much lower tone, peering around the door. Her face broke into a smile when she saw me. Anders stepped back as she hurried over to the bed. "Oh, my brave little boy. You slept so soundly. I was so worried."

"It's okay, Ma." I raised an arm to hug her as she stroked my forehead and kissed my cheek as if she was afraid I'd vanish at any moment. "Anders fixed me up good."

"You still need rest," Anders advised.

"And he'll get it," Ma assured him. "Now you get some rest as well. I know any time you weren't here you were looking after Varric. You won't do anyone any good if you fall asleep on your feet and walk in front of a motor."

"I'll be back tomorrow," Anders promised, as Ma herded him out.

She jumped when Fenris got to his feet. He'd been so still and silent I hadn't even noticed he was there, just sitting in his usual spot.

"Oh! Goodness, you gave me a shock. You can say hello, but you heard what Anders said. He needs his rest."

Fenris nodded. He waited until Ma had gone before speaking.

"I suppose I'll let you off our lessons this week. You've got an excuse, after all."

I chuckled but it quickly turned into a cough. I still had some soot in my lungs yet.

"I'll let the others know you're awake." He put his hat on.

"Hey, Fenris," I propped myself up on one elbow, "were you here all this time?"

He merely smiled at me and went out.

* * *

><p>For all of Ma's good intentions, she couldn't keep everyone out. As soon as Fenris had spread the word of my return to the land of the living, my friends had to see me for themselves. Gamlen said he hoped I would be up and about soon, as I couldn't run my business from bed, and Carver just stared worriedly at me for a long time and eventually told me he was glad I'd come back.<p>

"I've never seen you use a gun," he said quietly. I wondered just how much he remembered of that autumn afternoon. He would have been about eight years old. Not that young.

He looked like he wanted to say more, but all he did was nod at me and go out. He didn't come back until after dark. In the meantime, Isabela had brought grapes and compliments and the kind of bedside manner that made me wish she'd locked the door.

She leant her elbows on the edge of the mattress and stroked my forehead.

"We really thought you'd gone, you know? Anders nearly went spare, between you and Varric. Merrill kept saying she didn't need help; but she was bleeding and crying. Poor thing." Isabela paused and looked at me. "What do you think happened to her?"

"I'll talk to her," I said. "I still don't know what in the world she was doing there, but she saved Varric's life, that's for certain." Mages turned to blood magic in times of extreme stress, and in her case it looked like she'd managed to control it. Still, I had every intention of making sure. Apostates do not have Templars looking after them, so we have to look after each other.

"Well, once Anders had taken charge of you and Varric, Aveline was furious. She rounded up half a dozen uniforms who were controlling the crowd near the fire, and set off for the nearest known Carta hideout."

"Is she okay?" I struggled to sit up, but Isabela pushed down on my shoulders firmly.

"Mostly. Big girl's tough. And the Carta were not expecting us."

"You went too?"

Isabela shrugged, "Why not? The fire was under control, and I was mad as well, you know. They'd wounded three of my best friends, and for all I knew you and Varric were going to die. They got what was coming to them. Not that I drew attention to myself of course. I just lent support to our boys and girls in blue. From the shadows. And I found Bianca too; she's safe and sound."

I sighed. I didn't like the idea of anyone impulsively mounting an attack on the Carta, but it looked like they'd gotten away with it, at least for now.

"What happened when you got there?"

"Aveline kicked the door in, busted the chops of anyone who showed resistance and arrested everyone. They found enough illegal weapons and bootleg to convict, if no one in the precinct house decides to make a profit themselves."

"The cops didn't even want to go after the Carta a week ago."

"Well, they changed their minds after Aveline got her picture in the paper driving the Carta's fancy motor, all piled up with barrels, into impound. She's getting a commendation."

I laughed, although it quickly turned into coughing. Isabela offered me a glass of water. It looked like everything was going to sort itself out one way or another.

Ma heard me coughing and poked her head in to ask if I wanted anything. She did a double-take when she saw Isabela. I could tell Ma didn't really know what to make of Isabela; she did her best to keep up with us and our friends, but I could sense she wanted to give Isabela advice on lowering her hemline and maybe cleaning up her vocabulary.

"Oh, hello Isabela, I didn't know you were here. Maybe I should start locking the door to keep everyone out. Trip needs his rest."

Isabela laughed, "A locked door wouldn't keep me from this handsome fella. Don't worry, I'm just passing on my news and then I'll go. Tell Carver I said hello," she said with a wink.

After she'd gone, Ma frowned at me, "Carver? But I thought-"

"She's just teasing, Ma. That's just the way she is."

"In my day, we wouldn't have even thought of such a thing." Ma looked just a bit wistful. "Maybe it's an improvement."

"Don't tell me you're gonna start going to Merrill's meetings, Ma."

"Why not? It's very interesting. Besides," she put her hands on her hips, "can you think of any reason why it's a bad idea?"

"No, Ma." I made a point of coughing again and settled down for another nap.

Ma made me chicken soup and rice pudding for dinner, and it was almost like being six again. I was still eating when Aveline arrived, straight from her shift and still in uniform. She was sporting a big bruise on her cheek, and walking favouring one leg. Having seen how the Carta fight, she'd gotten off lightly.

"Look at you;" she said with a smile, "the rumours are true. You'll be swinging from the rafters in no time."

"I can only hope. Aveline, you shouldn't have gone after the Carta without me."

"You heard, did you?"

"I read the papers, you know. Nice picture, by the way. I much rather see you on the front page than Carver."

Aveline picked the dinner tray off the chair next to my bed, and rested it on her lap as she sat.

"We didn't know if you were coming back. I don't know much about mages, Trip, but what you did was something else."

"It's just, sailing close to the wind I guess. I wouldn't have done it if I'd had any other choice."

"I know. If I didn't think you could handle your magic, I'd have turned you in to the Templars for your own good. You handle it so well it's frightening to see you taking risks."

"I was pretty scared myself. But it turned out for the best. Just like your assault on the Carta," I pointed out.

"Fair enough, I suppose. What really annoys me is that Professor Tethras is going to get away with everything. Now that the Carta are known to be involved, there's no way we can pin the fire on Tethras himself. The insurance company is going to have to pay out."

"Maybe, but his reputation won't be as spotless as he'd like. The Carta don't just torch warehouses for fun."

"Speaking of which, what was in that warehouse anyway that he wanted to get rid of so badly? When we picked through the ash, we couldn't find anything."

I raised my eyebrows, "Nothing? There was something in there; not a lot, but I don't think it was flammable."

"What did you find?"

"To be honest, I'm not totally sure. I've never seen anything like it before, but I think it was some kind of lyrium."

"_Lyrium_ smuggling?" Aveline passed her hand over her face, "Oh Varric, what were you thinking?"

"Be fair, it wasn't his fault. Bartrand must have found a vein in the deep roads and mined it. And then dumped it all in Varric's lap."

"And now it's gone," Aveline said. "How much was there?"

"Only a handful of crates. No more'n half a ton, I'd say."

"Trip, have you any idea how much half a ton of lyrium would be worth on the open market? No wonder the Carta were interested."

I shook my head, "This stuff wasn't pure. I have no idea how much usable lyrium it would distil down to. Or what kinds of facilities are needed to do it."

"Well, I'll pass a memo on to the Templars to keep an eye out for it, for all the good that'll do, and see if any witnesses at the scene of the fire noticed anything."

"Let me know if I can help."

"You can work on getting better. The important thing is that no one died. Bloodying the Carta's nose is just gravy."

"They're not going to be happy with you, Aveline. Look after yourself."

"I can do that. Don't you worry about me."

* * *

><p>I got plenty sick of lying in bed, and despite Ma's objections, insisted on getting up the next morning. Anders told me there wasn't a great deal that was physically wrong with me; I'd inhaled a lot of smoke, but everything else was due to the sheer shock of having my powers ripped out of my mind by the force of the bullets I'd fired.<p>

Once I'd woken up, and he'd reassured himself that there was nothing else wrong, he said there was no reason to stay in bed if I didn't feel like it.

Ma went back to work, and Anders and I shared tea and toast in the kitchen.

"I moved Varric back to the Hanged Man," Anders said. "He's out of danger and a disruptive influence on the other patients. I think he'd be happier there than in Darktown anyway."

"How's his leg?" I asked.

"He'll need a cane for a while, but I think it'll heal fine."

"We're very lucky to have you, Anders. I'm not sure I'd trust anyone else in this city to dig a bullet out of me."

Anders grinned into his tea, his ears turning pink. "Anyway, ah, I wanted to ask you. When you picked up that gun, it was like, well, it was like what happens when Justice takes over. I could see it, plain as day that you'd changed. All you needed to complete the picture was to glow."

I sighed, "No, Anders, it's not what you think. I don't have a spirit living in my head. At least, not an external one. Maybe I created one out of my own guilt, or fear of my own power."

"You fear your own magic? Why?"

"I'm a fool if I don't. The last time I'd picked up a gun, I nearly became an abomination. Using a gun is facing that threat all over again."

"I already am an abomination," Anders said.

"No you're not. Abominations don't live a life of self-induced poverty to minister to the poor and sick. You just have your triggers, like I do. Maybe every mage has them." That was an interesting, and frightening, thought.

"So you don't believe me?" Anders looked at me, hurt. "You don't believe in Justice?"

"I believe in the ideal, Anders. I'm not even sure I believe in spirits, no matter what the Chantry says."

"I see."

"I'm not going to tell you what's in your own head. All I can do is be your friend, and you know if I ever did believe you were an abomination, I'd do something about it." My father would have shot his oldest son. "It's something mages have to do for each other."

"Or the Templars would try to do it for us," Anders agreed.

We sat in silence for a while.

"Speaking of such topics," Anders said, "when you found Merrill in that warehouse, was she, well, you know?"

I nodded, "I'll speak to her. I think she was okay, and I can understand why she did what she did."

"I just wish she'd found another way," Anders said. "Some things aren't worth the price you pay for them."

"Yeah, but what's done is done. At least something like that isn't likely to happen again."

I visited Merrill the next day. She looked startled to see me, and invited me in.

"I wasn't sure you would want to see me," she admitted, twisting her hands nervously. "Not after what I did."

"Of course I'd want to see you, you're my friend." I opened my arms, offering her a hug, and she accepted. She was skin and bone. "Are you all right?" I asked.

"I've been thinking about it over and over," she told one of the buttons on my coat. "It was really easy to do. I never imagined it would be easy."

I guided her over to the settee, "What's done is done. You saved Varric's life. And you know you can talk to me if you get worried."

She nodded, "Thanks, Trip. And I'm glad you're okay too. I mean, I never doubted that you would be. You're a really strong mage."

"It's not always easy. I was wondering though, what were you doing in the warehouse with Varric anyway?"

"Oh that. Well, we were meant to meet up for tea, we do every week. It's awfully nice of Varric; we go uptown and look at all the things for sale in the department stores. I wish my clan would let me send some things back." She looked a bit downcast, "Anyway, he didn't show up, and I wondered if something was wrong. And I couldn't find him, and began to get a bit worried."

"So I broke into his apartment. I'm sorry! But if I could find a sample of his blood, I could track him down."

I wasn't too happy to learn that Merrill's blood magic wasn't a one-off thing, but something else was bothering me more.

"Why did you break in? You had to climb up a drainpipe for three floors. Why didn't you just walk in the front door?"

"Because I was stealing, not visiting." She seemed to think that was a perfectly logical answer. "Anyway, he must have cut himself shaving and I tracked him down to that warehouse. There were these other dwarves there and they were having a big argument, and Varric was tied to a chair."

"The Carta."

"Is that who they were? They were very grumpy; they thought Varric had tricked them. He wanted to sell them some lyrium, but they didn't recognise the type. I went in to try and explain it to them, and they tied me up too. I wanted to kill them but Varric said he'd take care of it."

"They talked for ages, and then the warehouse caught fire. They shot Varric and left."

"I know the rest," I said. "So that yellow stuff is lyrium after all. What was wrong with it?"

"It's yellowcake," Merrill explained quietly. "It's a very rare type of lyrium. It's worth twice what Varric was asking for it, but the Carta's expert didn't recognise it, and thought it was cut with clay."

"Well, it's gone now," I said. "The police didn't find it once the fire was out."

"Oh, I know. I came back later and got rid of it," Merrill said brightly. "It would just have caused trouble otherwise."

"Well, yeah, I suppose it would have." It was probably for the best, really.

I got to my feet, "Come on, Merrill, enough moping. Life goes on, and life is good. Let's go and visit Varric. He's back at the Hanged Man."

She smiled at me, "That would be lovely."

Varric had quickly reasserted his presence at the Hanged Man. His favourite barmaid was bringing him up some tobacco when we arrived, and his room was a veritable forest of flowers and fruit and get well messages. The dwarf himself looked hale and healthy, although his right leg was sticking out of his dressing gown, swathed in bandages.

He grinned when he saw us, and waved us over.

"How are you doing, Varric?" I asked.

"Living like a king, thanks for asking. That fifteen silver there is yours, by the way. And when I'm back on my feet again, Bartrand better pay you a bonus or he'll regret he ever came back from the deep roads."

"I appreciate it, Varric." I felt absolutely no guilt about extorting as much as we could from Professor Tethras.

Varric hugged Merrill and shook my hand.

"You did good, Hero. I owe you one."

And that is how Varric finally decided on a nickname for me.


	29. Seventeen Arrested in Carta Bust

Merrill, Varric and I spent the rest of the afternoon sharing our stories. Varric didn't seem bothered by Merrill's use of blood magic; as a dwarf, magic of any kind didn't seem to bother him. Sometimes it seemed everyone else in the city had drawn battlelines on the subject of mages, and I strove to emulate Varric's thoughtful indifference.

Varric was still pissed off at Bartrand, but in a sense he was relieved that his brother was going to get his payout. With the debts finally paid, Varric could finally stop worrying about it and attend to his own business again. We had an early dinner in Varric's room and then I walked Merrill back to the Alienage.

When I got home, there was very nasty surprise waiting for me.

I wandered into the living room and nearly very sharply wandered right back out again. We had a visitor. A Templar. Ma was talking to him, and when she looked over his shoulder and saw me she beckoned me in. I could tell from her expression she was braced for something.

"There you are, Trip."

The Templar turned around. It was Carver.

I raised an eyebrow, "How did you get an invite to a fancy dress party when I didn't?"

"This isn't a costume, Trip, it's a uniform." Carver straightened his back a bit, "It's my uniform."

I glared at him for a few moments, looking for any sign that he wasn't serious and this was just a joke in extremely poor taste.

"I see," I said. "Can I say goodbye to Ma, or should I start running now?"

"See? I told you he'd be like this!" Carver turned to Ma.

"Come on, Trip, listen to what Carver has to say. He's given this a lot of thought."

"I find that hard to believe," I said.

Carver took a deep breath, "Trip, three people nearly died last week. An entire warehouse was reduced to ashes and all we got to show for it is ten silver."

"Twenty-five, actually. Bartrand coughed up the difference."

"That ain't the point! We need a steady income. More than what Ma makes at the shop and it ain't fair that she should be working in the first place."

"Okay, so you want a job. Why the bowler hat? You coulda joined the police even."

"The Templars pay better, and besides, Aveline's a good friend but I don't wanna work with her all the time. Look, I ain't gonna turn you in. Or any of our friends."

"Well, I see you've made your mind up." I pushed past them, and then realised I had no reason to be in the kitchen, so I opened the back door and sat on the steps overlooking our overgrown back yard.

Horse joined me soon after, his old rubber ball clenched hopefully in his mouth. I patted him and dutifully threw it for him to fetch.

I'd been entertaining Horse out there for a little while when Carver followed me out and sat beside me. He'd taken off his loathsome hat and coat, but I found I couldn't look at him quite the same way anymore. My snot-nosed little brother had done it again. Although this felt different; when he'd joined the army he'd basically snuck off and had only left a letter to explain where he'd gone. This time he'd faced all of us with his decision.

"I want to help, Trip," he said, taking the ball from Horse and throwing it against the back fence. "This town needs Templars who want to protect mages, not punish them. People like Emeric. I've been talking to him a lot, and he said I'd make a fine Templar, that I already understood what some Templars never learn."

Emeric huh? I wasn't really surprised.

"But I still have a lot to learn. Last week, when you picked up the gun, it was like I couldn't recognise you." He shook his head, "I've been complacent."

"Hey, you think I'm gonna go nuts or something? It's still me."

"I know. But growing up in a family of mages, I guess I just took it for granted that the Templars and Chantry were just beating their gums when they talk about how dangerous you are. I think, I think I really could be a good Templar. I could really make a difference."

I raised an eyebrow at him, "Is this why my business is suddenly worthless? The Templars are where you go to change the world for the better?"

"No, Trip. Of course you make a difference. Even I ain't dumb enough to miss that. But something else I learned last week." He paused, and I could see he was getting to the heart of the matter. Despite Horse's pleading looks, he just turned the ragged and drool-flecked ball over in his fingers.

"You don't need me any more." Carver met my eyes, "You have _him_."

"I…Fenris? But he-"

Carver forestalled me, "He looks after you. He hardly takes his eyes off you. When you were laid up in bed he only left when he had to. And he's better at it than me. He's had real training, he's faster and he's got that lyrium stuff. When he's here, what good am I?"

We were silent for a while.

I held my hand out, "All right, little brother. You made your point. Don't come crawling back after basic training kicks your backside."

A smile spread across Carver's face and he shook my hand, "Thank you, Trip. Father woulda been proud of the way you looked after us. I'm gonna do my share now."

* * *

><p>With my blessing acquired, Ma said we would give Carver a proper send off. Once he entered training he'd be living at the barracks, and I had to admit I was sorta looking forward to moving Gamlen out of the living room; he was an eyesore. Gamlen was pretty happy about getting his bedroom back as well, and the steady income that Carver promised was a bonus.<p>

Anders wasn't too happy about the whole Templar thing, but everyone else got behind Carver's decision. In fact, we decided to throw a party.

It wasn't just for Carver. Varric was soon back on his feet, albeit with the help of a handsome hardwood cane, and it was coming up on six months since I opened my business. That was all the excuse we needed.

Varric hired us one of the Hanged Man's rooms, and Merrill set about decorating it with murals drawn in chalk on brown paper and paper chains. Isabela was ostensibly supposed to help, but her drawings probably would have upset Ma.

I think Carver was a bit overwhelmed, to be honest.

Overflowing with enthusiasm, we invited everyone we could think of, including people we hadn't seen in months and even people we genially disliked. By the time the day of the party rolled around, everyone was in a frenzy. Ma had been cooking since dawn, and the kitchen was full of food and dirty dishes. Horse had to be shouted at when he tried to sample some of the pork rolls. I took him for a walk just to calm him down, and get away from the madness myself.

We started taking the food over mid-afternoon. Merrill had done a wonderful job with the decorating, even if the theme did seem to be, incongruously, exotic plant life. Isabela proudly brought in an absolutely enormous cake with 'Happy Birthday Stella' written on it. We tried to take the writing off, but all we managed to do was smudge it. Fenris brought two bottles of wine, and almost everyone else brought food. I did wonder how we were going to get through it all.

Luckily, we were not alone. Not everyone we invited showed up, but Emeric and Lirene did. Most of our neighbours put on an appearance, as did a couple of Gamlen's disreputable poker friends, whom Isabela immediately set about cleaning out. Even Meeran joined in the festivities, although I'm not sure who invited him. He seemed a bit bemused as well, although he did present Carver with an engraved cigarette case.

Anders had decided to present Carver with a cat to keep him company in the barracks, until Emeric reminded him that pets weren't allowed. Anders got to keep his cat, and the cat got to spend an evening out sitting in Emeric's lap as the Templar fed it bits of tuna casserole.

I'd decided that after long weeks of carefully not paying too much attention to Fenris, lest he discover what kind of unusual thoughts I had about him, I may have outsmarted myself. Because 'he hardly takes his eyes off you' had been ringing in my head ever since Carver had casually tossed the phrase out, but I had no idea if it was true.

Carver was the man of the hour, and I let him take the spotlight while I fought for my fair share of Fenris's wine and watched the room.

I jumped when Fenris appeared at my elbow to offer me the last of one of his bottles of wine. As expected, they'd gone extremely fast. We were keeping a lid on just who brought them.

"Thanks," I said, holding out my glass. "It's not really enough to celebrate on, is it?"

"You like wine?" Fenris asked.

"Not as much as I like good Fereldan beer, but it's better than what passes for liquor in the Free Marches these days."

I inclined my head and Fenris carried his glass over to a quiet corner. There seemed to be a lot to say; the air between us was thick with smoke, other people's conversation, and the potential of our own.

Low light made Fenris look thinner, shadows pooling under his cheekbones and bottom lip. I allowed myself to study him as I might have less shamefully studied a woman. I'd avoided looking at him most of the time. Partly because I wasn't sure what he'd read in my eyes, and partly because I didn't want him to think I was staring at his lyrium markings. But I was staring at them.

They curved under his lower lip, framing it as if it were an offering to someone brave enough to touch it. In this hazy shadow we shared, I could believe I was that brave.

Fenris was watching me too, in that guarded almost feline way of his.

"Are you having a staring contest?" Merrill asked, making me jump.

"Well," I began.

"No. Go away," Fenris said flatly.

Merrill pouted at him, "Fine fine, I was just going to ask if there was any more wine."

"I don't think so," I told her, before Fenris got a chance to be rude again. Merrill shrugged and left us to it as she went in search of something stronger. But the spell was broken, and the space between us needed words again.

"I'm surprised you didn't put up an argument against Carver's new career," Fenris said.

"Oh, I did. I was too cheesed off to even have a proper fight about it. But he's thought it through and hell; he's a grown man now. He can make his own mistakes." I think both Ma and I were still a bit shell-shocked by that. Ma in particular had been beaming proudly and on the edge of tears all evening.

"He needs direction, and he won't accept it from you."

"I know. This is partly your fault, you know. He said with you around he doesn't feel as necessary to the business."

Fenris frowned, "I'm not trying to take his place, Trip. I couldn't."

"Yeah. I don't want you to take his place," I told him. "But, so you know, there is a place for you here."

"You're very kind."

"I'm not being kind!" I glared at him and looked away again, "If anything, I'm being selfish. I don't even pay you."

"You don't have to pay-"

"So you've said. I can't help feeling I'm getting the better end of the deal, though. I get the backup of the best training the Imperium can provide, and a, a stunning individual to stare inappropriately at, but what do you get?"

Fenris stared into his drink. Now I wished the light wasn't so low, because if I didn't know better I'd have thought he was blushing.

"I get a friend," he said finally. "I get more than a friend; I get a whole group of them. Even if most of them irritate me."

"You don't need me for that," I said.

"You don't irritate me. You confuse me," he admitted. He raised his eyes to mine and smiled faintly, "In a way that I like."

"I can relate to that," I said quietly. "I was confused too. But I'm not anymore," I glanced at him sharply, "someday you won't be confused either. One way or another. And then what?"

"We could, I mean, I still have plenty of wine. It seems a shame to drink it alone sometimes. I uh..."

"I accept," I clinked my glass against his, "just tell me when."

To my disappointment, but not surprise, he didn't suggest a date.

I couldn't hide in the corner forever and as Carver's older brother I had some duties to attend to before we cut the cake. I called for silence and then called Carver a sap, among other more generous things.

I ain't really one for speeches, but it's the duty of the man of the house to see off those leaving with the good wishes of those who remain. Ma really did start crying when I handed Carver the hunting knife my father had given me when I was thirteen. We were a bit light on heirlooms; almost everything meaningful had been abandoned in Lothering, and everything valuable had long been pawned by Gamlen. As they say; it's the thought that counts.

We all sang 'For He's a Jolly Good Fellow', and Carver cut the cake. I can't say I'd ever been to a celebration quite like it.

Even Anders had thawed out a bit.

"Maybe he can do some good in there."

"Just don't send him any pamphlets, will you? We don't want him kicked out."

The party continued until the early hours of the morning, but however long it lasted it didn't change the fact that before dawn we were seeing Carver off with a suitcase of clothes.

After he'd gone, Ma cried against my shoulder for a long time.

The apartment felt very still.


	30. Templar Brutality Claim Dismissed

More than a month behind schedule, I finally started training with Fenris. Properly this time and in such a way that I wasn't covered in bruises the next day, even if I was a bit sore. I had some bad habits he wanted me to unlearn, and we scuffled and pulled our punches and practiced every Andrasday until about noon. Then we'd head back to Lowtown for Ma's roast.

Everyone was making an effort to visit often, so Ma wouldn't miss Carver as much. He'd get some leave eventually, but if things went to plan we wouldn't see him for the best part of six months. He did write, although he never had a great deal to say. They were still drilling him in basic stuff; he'd yet to actually meet many mages.

Kirkwall had been a softer existence than the one I'd had on the farm back in Fereldan, and as I got in the habit of practicing what Fenris taught on nights when I had nothing else to do, I grew leaner and harder. Varric occasionally suggested I try and make some money fighting professionally – he knew some people who could get me in – but I always declined. The whole game was just too dirty to play.

To tell the truth I wasn't sure why I was practicing so hard. I guess with Carver gone, and with him his gun, I was more aware of having to look after Ma and Gamlen. And glancing at the papers each morning only made me more determined. Bad news seemed to be comin' from all sorts of directions nowadays, and we were still a couple of years away from an election. Not that they ever changed anything.

The Knight-Commander of the Templars was not a public office.

"You need to stop trying so hard to beat _me_," Fenris said one Andrasday morning.

"I thought that was the point," I said.

"It's not me you might have to fight. You're relying too much on your size and weight. Let's try something else; I land a hit, you lose."

I lost. Many, many times.

During the week, Fenris would stay mostly through business hours; he was taking Carver's job very seriously. Eventually he ran out of comics and started on my collection of dime novels.

"Do you want some help?" I asked, after watching his lips move for the better part of half an hour. I hadn't intended to ask him, it had just sort of slipped out.

"No," he said sharply, frowning. I'd guessed he wouldn't want attention drawn to it, but he was obviously struggling.

"It's nothing to be ashamed of," I told him. "Plenty of folks in Lothering couldn't read. Those that could would read out bits of the paper to 'em if the needed to know something."

Fenris sighed and lowered his book, "No offence to the stalwart men and women of Lothering, but an illiterate farmer in a Fereldan backwater is not exactly the gold standard of education. Or any sort of standard at all."

"So you never went to school?" I asked.

Fenris just shook his head at my ignorance, "The workers of the Tevinter Imperium are taught nothing more than the minimum they need to know to do their jobs. If they learned to read, they might get ideas like the ones Anders likes to peddle."

"So you didn't need to read to do your job?"

"I was taught enough. I can read signs and addresses. Enough to get by; read maps, find people or order from a menu. Not enough to read, well, this." He gestured with the book.

"Come on, Fenris. Let me help. It's the least I can do. It ain't like I'm going to laugh at you or nothin'. Besides, you're halfway there already."

He shrugged, "Fine, since you have your heart set on it."

So now I had an excuse to stare at Fenris's mouth while he read. I don't think it bothered Fenris that he often had to remind me I was meant to be helping and not just staring at him. He'd just give a funny little smile every time.

One morning Isabela strolled into my office, grinning widely. She had a mink stole wrapped around her shoulders but that was her only concession to the weather. She brought with her the light and smell of summer – don't ask me how.

"Morning fellas," she said. "Had a look at Varric's stock lately?"

"No. Why, what's happened?"

She smirked and tossed a paperback onto my desk. On the front was a picture of a fella in a hat, firing a gun at some kind of tentacled thing that was dragging off a well-endowed doll in a torn dress.

"_Sam__ Falcon__ and__ the__ Curse __of__ the __Lyrium __Idol_, by Barry Teuthold," I read off the cover. "Isabela, what _is_ this?"

Isabela just laughed as I flipped through the first few pages.

"Varric!" I tossed the book back on my desk and hurried out, Isabela following gleefully. Fenris just kept reading.

Varric wasn't particularly worried when I burst into his shop.

"Ah, there you are, Hero. How's business?"

"Never mind my business; I want to talk about your business. What's with this Sam Falcon stuff?"

"For a new author, it's selling pretty well. Barry's going to go far."

I folded my arms, "You're not fooling anyone, Varric. I know you wrote that thing. And you based it off me! Do I get a say in any of this?"

"Didn't you read the disclaimer on the front? This is a work of fiction and any resemblance to real events or people, living or dead, is purely coincidental." He grinned at me.

I sighed, "There's nothing I can do, is there?"

"You can try and prove it in court. That'll really boost sales; nothing shifts books like a bit of controversy."

"No thanks. I don't have the money for that sort of thing for a start."

"Give it a chance, Hero. Have you even read it yet? If it really bothers you that much I'll stop, how about that?"

I couldn't really ask for anything more reasonable, although I still felt as though I should. Oddly enough, when I went back upstairs I couldn't find the copy of the book Isabela had brought in. Fenris didn't seem to have any idea where it might have gone, so I was obliged to buy my own copy.

It wasn't bad, exactly, and at least Sam Falcon wasn't a mage, although he had an apostate friend whom he called upon in times of crisis. It was actually pretty amusing, although I wasn't about to tell Varric that. It was flattering in a way, and I couldn't quite bring myself to tell Varric to stop.

I did my best to make sure Ma didn't find out about it though. Falcon's adventures with the ladies who graced the covers of his books were all very interesting, but not suitable for discussing around the dinner table.

Fenris uncomplainingly accompanied me on boring stakeouts on behalf of suspicious spouses, and helped track down lost pets and children. As winter seized Kirkwall in cold, muddy fingers, my life resembled Sam Falcon's less and less. This stuff is what pays the bills, and it's boring and seedy.

We got to know every cockroach-infested hotel in town. Occasionally we'd brush up against bigger fish; people sometimes disappeared themselves to get out of worse trouble. But after Aveline's crusade had torn a massive hole in the rank and file of the Carta, nobody paid us a great deal of attention.

If the Red Iron or one of the other families kindly told us to keep our noses out, we generally did. I didn't get paid enough to go shark hunting in these waters. Sometimes we found these poor suckers first, and we'd do our best to scrape up what was left of their lives and fling them on the nearest boat to anywhere else. Maybe we did some good; maybe we were fooling ourselves.

Fenris wasn't a mabari, however. His loyalty had its limits, and I discovered those limits when Anders walked through my door.

"You're a bit early for dinner," Fenris said in an unfriendly tone, before Anders had even taken his coat off.

"Why does everyone assume the moment I step in the door that I'm here to eat?" Anders asked. He had been making an effort to be nicer to Fenris, although I'm not sure Fenris had noticed.

"Because you usually are," I said with a grin. "You're like a stray cat. I even find cat hairs after you've gone."

"You do not."

"Anders, you live with half a dozen of the creatures. Of course you leave cat hairs."

Anders frowned at me, and self-consciously dusted down his arms. "Anyway, I have a job for you."

"Oh no," Fenris got to his feet. "Not again. Every time you come to Trip with a job one, you don't pay him, and two," he stalked over to Anders and glared at him, "it always ends horribly. I've heard what happened in the Chantry."

"We're going to rescue an innocent young girl from having her brain fried," Anders argued back. "And I can pay."

"I don't care! I'll have no part in it. And Trip, you should do the same." Fenris glared at me and then collected his coat and hat.

After he'd gone, I waved Anders into the chair and lit a smoke. "He has a point, you know. I don't enjoy killing people. Most of the time I manage to avoid it except when you're involved." I held up my hand, "I know your heart is in the right place."

Anders hunched his shoulders, "I try not to involve you. If I can handle it myself, I do."

"So I've heard. A steady trickle of mages and apostates being snuck out of the city for the past six months. You must actually have the Templars worried, because they're keeping it quiet rather than using it as a stick to beat their mages some more."

"They know getting the word out will just make things worse. Once people know we exist, they'll start fighting back. They are fighting back. Even if they can't help directly, the Collective is getting more donations than they ever have before. Meredith's reign will end, Trip. The people aren't going to stand for much more of this."

"Are you going to smile more often then?" I asked.

He managed a weak imitation of one, "We're not there yet. And the Meredith isn't going to back down without a fight."

"Let's hear it, Anders. But there better not be blood mages involved this time."

"No! Nothing like that. She just wanted to visit her family. The Templars caught her, and then her family contacted us. They're afraid for good reason that they're going to make her Tranquil."

"So this is like Karl all over again?" I asked.

"No. She won't be coming out to us. We'll have to go and get her. And I know what you're going to say, but she's not actually at the Gallows. Not really."

"I can see you've thought of everything, Anders. Where is she?"

"There's this Templar called Alrik. Even the other Templars don't like him much, and the mages in the circle are frankly terrified of him. When he catches someone doing something that he can persuade Meredith is bad enough for Tranquillity, he takes them to his own private surgery below the Gallows. So no one can hear what he does to them."

"And she's down there now?"

"She isn't anywhere else that we've been able to find out. We can't risk it. If we can get in there, get some proof of what Alric's been up to, maybe we can get him, even if we can't touch Meredith yet."

"Sounds like a walk in the park."

"Here, gold." Anders tossed a couple of gold pieces onto my desk.

I frowned at him, "I don't like the implication that it's only money that concerns me."

"I know you do things out of the goodness of your heart. You've never demanded payment from me, and I feel bad about that. Now that I can pay you will, for now and all the other times you've helped out mages."

"Anders, this is gold. Are you sure you don't need it? You don't owe me that much."

"It's not my money to keep. The Collective gave it to me."

And I knew Anders wouldn't dream of taking money from the Collective. I sighed. And then I picked up the gold.

"Okay, let's rescue your girlfriend."

"She's not my girlfriend, Trip! I've never actually met the young lady personally. All I know is that she's an innocent mage who needs our help." Anders frowned reproachfully at me.

"Okay, I know. I was just making fun. But who knows, maybe you'll swoop in to rescue her and she'll fall for her knight in shining armour."

"Isn't that your department?" Anders asked, taking the opportunity to get some teasing of his own in.

"Oh, not you as well. Those books are fiction, _fiction_! Why must I put up with this if I don't get any royalties? Anyway, let's grab a bite to eat and see who else wants to come along."

Our choices were limited. Fenris had already declined, Aveline would refuse, and Varric still needed his cane for long walks. I had to hope Merrill and Isabela were around. I didn't want to go anywhere near the Gallows at the best of times, but if I had to go I'd want my friends with me.


	31. Police Net Illegal Fishing Boats

We found the girls drinking at the Hanged Man, and they agreed to help Anders and I. Isabela thought it would be fun, and Merrill always wanted to help a mage in need. Anders had never introduced her to his collective friends, however, and that was probably a wise decision; Merrill was not the best at keeping secrets.

At least, so I thought.

"So where exactly is this secret laboratory of this Alrik fella?" I asked. "Underneath the Gallows doesn't sound any easier to get to than the Gallows itself."

"There's a way in from the harbour," Anders explained. "An old lyrium smuggling route."

"So we get to row in a boat again?" Merrill asked excitedly. "That was ever so much fun the last time we did that."

I wasn't so happy. Last time we had Carver there to row for us.

"A rowboat? None of my outfits match a rowboat. I don't match a rowboat. But don't worry, I can get us something bigger," Isabela said. "Meet me down at the docks in half an hour."

"We don't want to attract any attention," Anders said.

Isabela just laughed at him.

Isabela didn't get us a boat so much as get us invited on a cruise of the harbour. We found ourselves boarding a big fancy steam launch full of tourists on holiday from Tantervale.

"Don't tell me you're already angling for a career in the movies," I told Isabela as we made our way down the buffet while Anders stayed on the prow quietly having a nervous breakdown.

"It's important to know people, and get your name out there. As soon as I sort out this business with Castillion for good, I'm going. You should come with me."

"Uh huh. Sure thing."

Merrill reported with a rather disappointed expression that there wasn't anything but fruit punch and soda on offer at the drinks buffet, and we gathered on the deck to eat little pastries and bits of cheese on skewers. Everyone seemed to know Isabela, and I shook a dozen hands and instantly forgot the names of the people who owned them.

"We're not meant to be having fun," Anders said, finally accepting an oyster after I shoved my plate under his nose.

"Don't be ridiculous," Isabela said, gesturing and nearly spilling her punch. "If it's not fun, it's not worth doing."

"This is so much better than that rowboat," Merrill said.

"But we can't actually ask them to drop us off by the Gallows," I pointed out.

"I know, but when we're close enough we'll take one of the lifeboats off the side. No one's gonna notice."

It wasn't a bad idea. It saved us a lot of rowing, and the steam launch would provide an excellent distraction on the off chance anyone was watching the water.

Thus, nine o'clock saw us shipping oars next to a narrow ledge that led up the all-but-sheer rocky side of the cliff upon which the Gallows had been built. From this angle, I couldn't actually see the towering stone walls lined with razor wire and the slate roofs of the buildings within and I was gladder for it. Until I'd come to Kirkwall, I'd never even seen a Circle.

I've seen pictures of other ones, and people tell me they're kinder and easier, but I will always associate Templars with the Gallows.

Dark water surged and fell just below our feet and flecked us with spray as the steam launch sailed out towards the mouth of the harbour, trailing music faintly behind it. We were on our own. We had to cling to the wall for about twenty feet before the ledge made an abrupt right turn into the rock, opening out into a narrow tunnel that didn't look natural.

"How far do we have to go?" Merrill asked, and covered her mouth as her voice carried down the tunnel.

Anders just glared at her. He was jumpier than ever, and while I couldn't totally blame him, if he didn't relax a bit he was going to break something. I gave him what I hoped was a reassuring look, but he just frowned.

After Merrill's accidental outburst, we tried to be as quiet as possible, and soon we could hear someone crying up ahead.

Alrik's laboratory was barely worthy of the name. We found ourselves in an area that was little more than a series of storage areas, now with new, heavily barred doors across the entrances. It wasn't lyrium they were holding down here anymore. The tunnel widened out into a central room, and I could see an electrical cable strung along the wall where the tunnel continued on the other side.

There were bare bulbs hanging from the ceiling and we edged further into the light, half-crouched.

There was more furniture in the room than I'd expected, a table bearing various surgical instruments, a wooden chair. A rather tatted settee. And one other thing which crossed the line between object and device, work of art and warning.

It had never been a chair, although it was shaped vaguely like one. It was wrought out of solid steel, and clad in rubber. Leather straps hung slack, waiting for the next body to embrace, and on a complicated crane above where a head might go was the crown. The crown sported various wires and two electrodes, slightly blackened around the edges, dully reflected the light like blind eyes. It was like a shrine to some strange and forgotten sea monster.

None of us had anything to say. I could hear Merrill's sharp intake of breath, and Isabela just shook her head sadly. My heart started to pound, and I squeezed my eyes shut for a few heartbeats to try and dispel the notion that the tunnel was closing in on us, trapping us in this room with that _thing_.

The crying had stopped, and we jumped when it started again.

"She has to be in one of these rooms," Anders whispered.

"I'm on it," Isabela said, removing her lockpicks from her wavy brown hair. The rest of us circled the room and crouched near the opposite tunnel, listening for any returning Templars. So far, so good.

I didn't want to look at the chair, and I found my gaze returning to the old settee. Why was it even here? It looked perfectly ordinary and quite comfortable, and that bothered me. It bothered me that someone would want to be comfortable down here. That someone _was_ comfortable down here, and wanted to relax on a settee.

Templars are creepy saps.

Isabela opened a door. I jumped as it smashed back against the stone wall, and a heavy hand knocked Isabela halfway across the room. We'd found our captured mage, and the Templars who'd captured her. There were about six of them crammed into the alcove and most of them were pointing guns in our direction. One, a tall, bald man with startlingly blonde eyebrows, had one huge hand fisted in the mage's short cropped hair.

He was smiling.

"Meredith isn't going to believe it when I tell her my success rate has jumped three hundred percent," he said. "You," he looked at Anders, "in particular, will be quite a feather in my cap."

"When the papers find out about your medieval torture chamber down here, Meredith is gonna pretend she's never heard of you," I said.

"We'll just have to make sure they'll never find out, won't we? Don't worry, the more you mages fight back, the more everyone is going to realise this is the only solution."

"This is worse than murder!" Anders burst out.

"Is it? I am merely purifying these young people." He lifted the mages head slightly, "She is so angry now, and a danger to those she loves as well as herself, but soon she will just be the sweetest thing."

I found my gaze sliding back to that settee.

"You can't do anything to me," I said. "I ain't a mage and I know my rights. You have no jurisdiction over me. And I'll see you tried; in the court of public opinion if nothing else."

The Templar just looked at me, "Do you know what difference it makes, whether or not a tranquil subject was originally a mage?" He released the mage, and she collapsed on the floor, hiding her head under her arms and trying not to cry. "Absolutely none."

"No! You will not have him!"

I recognised that tone, and I grabbed Merrill's hand and pulled us both down behind the settee as Anders practically exploded. The Templars opened fire and in the confined stone space the noise was deafening. I could hear bullets ricocheting off the object in the middle of the room, and thumping dustily above our heads against the back of the settee. Anders was shouting something.

I was more worried about Isabela. If she kept her head down she wouldn't become a target, but there was a lot of lead in the air.

Merrill's blade glinted between her fingers and I could see her raise her wrist to it. There were more scars there than I expected.

"No," I told her. "We'll think of something else."

She sighed and shook her head. "But I need power," she said.

Anders wouldn't be able to keep up whatever he was doing indefinitely. He was burning reserves he couldn't afford to lose. But there was plenty of power here, and Merrill had the elemental knowledge to use it.

I reached up, my hands glowing gently, and pulled. The fat, snakelike electrical cable began to sway, and then one by one the brackets that held it to the wall gave way. I gritted my teeth; if I broke the cable, it would be no use to us.

"Careful, Trip," Merrill murmured in my ear, watching the cable sway above us, still attached somewhere out of sight.

Gravity is always with me. I pulled.

The cable dropped with a solid thump, and Merrill reached greedily for it, risking stretching an arm out from behind our shelter.

The lights dimmed, flickered, and then went out. Lightning crackled along Merrill's arm.

"Here I go," she said and stood up, her eyes ablaze. The room filled with the sharp storm cloud smell of ozone and I covered my ears and shut my eyes.

Merrill's aim was true. The guns fell silent.

I cautiously pulled my hands away from my ears, "Isabela?"

"What a show," Isabela replied.

I stood up, and the lights flickered back on. Merrill delicately collapsed onto the settee, pale and out of breath but otherwise unharmed. Isabela had edged her way underneath the table of instruments, and she crawled out and got to her feet, gingerly touching a large welt on her forehead.

"Oh blast, I'm going to have to change my style for at least a week to cover this," she said, picking up a shiny surgical knife and peering at her reflection in it. She was obviously going to be okay.

Anders was a different case. He was standing in a ring of butchered and electrocuted Templars, and still glowing. I could see a respectable pile of deformed lead at his feet where his shield had protected him from being utterly shredded by the hail of gunfire the Templars had subjected him to.

"Anders?" I picked my way over to him. The last time I'd seen him like this, he'd reverted back to his old self almost immediately once the gunfire had ceased. He was staring down at the mage, who was still huddled on the floor.

"They will die!" he declared, "I will see every last Templar dead for these abuses."

"Hey, not every last Templar was down here, buddy."

That didn't seem to have a great deal of effect, and magic was still rolling off Anders' shoulders and gleaming in his eyes.

"What sort of monster are you?" The mage had raised her head, and what she'd seen probably wasn't much more reassuring than the Templars who'd captured her.

Ander's turned on her, "I am no monster. She may have been corrupted by them to think me such!"

"What?"

"She is theirs, I can feel it."

"She's the reason we're here! We're supposed to rescue her, you blasted idiot."

Anders turned to me, and I refused to quail under his luminous stare and expression of blind fury.

"We must do what must be done."

"Anders-"

"There is only Justice." He started to turn back to the girl.

I backhanded him across the face. I was sick of this. Anders staggered and if the glow hadn't faded I was ready to follow up with some stronger medicine, specifically Fenris's patented brand of Knocking the Stuffing Out of Cocky Mages.

It didn't come to that. Anders stared at the carnage around him, and then at the girl, and then at me. "What …no, I almost. If you hadn't-" He raised his hands to his head and staggered out of the alcove.

I helped the mage to her feet. "It's okay," I told her. "You're safe for now. Were Alric and his friends the only ones who knew you were here?" I asked. She leant on me as I steered her out into the room.

"I think so," she said in a small voice.

"Well, if you want you can probably stay in the Circle."

She stared at the object Alric had intended to strap her to, and I thought she was going to cry again, but instead she shook her head.

"Then let's get you out of here," Isabela said. "We can get you out of the city by morning."

"What about my family?" she asked.

Isabela nodded, "We've got time to visit them, but you have to be quick."

To my surprise, Anders didn't volunteer the services of the mage underground. He hung back while I rounded up the girls and we headed back to the boat.

"We need," he spoke up as I was leaving, "evidence." He waved his hand vaguely at the mess.

"Anders, they're dead. We killed them. If you want to spread the news of this little massacre, if you think it will help your cause rather than make us look like a pack of bloodthirsty wolves, go right ahead. But I see nothing in here for us."

Anders followed me without another word.

We crammed into the little lifeboat and Anders and I rowed back to shore.

"Your friend," the mage said as we disembarked, not quite game to look at Anders, "is he going to be all right? What happened?"

"He just got a bit of a shock seeing all that blood, and seeing that place."

She nodded, "I understand. I guess you don't know what it's like to be a mage, but thank you for all your help."

"Take care of yourself." Isabela and Merrill escorted the mage away. I hoped I'd never hear of her again.

I walked Anders back to his clinic. There was something I wanted to talk to him about, besides the obvious Justice problem. Those Templars had been waiting for us, or waiting for someone, and that pointed to a rat among Anders' friends.

I didn't get a chance to talk about either of those things.

"I want to thank you," Anders said, as we stood in his doorway under his paper lantern. "Again. Trip, you're always-"

"Pulling you out of messes of your own making?"

"That wasn't quite how I was going to put it," he said. "But yes. If you hadn't been there, Justice might have killed that girl. I didn't realise he could get so out of control."

"And I won't necessarily be there next time," I told him. "You have to take responsibility for this."

"I will, and I do. I just want to express how much I-" He pushed his glasses up a bit further on his nose, "I can't give up the cause, Trip."

"That's fine. It's not a bad cause, Anders. But it is not worth dying for, and it is not worth killing for."

"Those Templars deserved to die for what they did to mages!"

"Maybe. But that's not for us to say. And as 'Justice' has proved tonight, his judgement isn't so reliable either."

"I know," Anders bowed his head, "I corrupted him with my anger and frustration."

"Of all the things to beat yourself up about, having a bad influence on your imaginary friends probably shouldn't be top of the list."

Anders smiled weakly, "I do appreciate your jokes, you know. And your help. Sometimes I think you're the only good thing that's happened to me since I came to Kirkwall."

"I won't tell Varric if you don't," I winked. "Go and get some sleep. We can talk about this later."

"Wait." Anders took a deep breath, "Carver told me about that elf. At the Rose."

Where was this coming from and why now? "What? That lousy rat. He's going to spend his first set of leave in hospital, I swear."

"No, it's not his fault. He was very drunk."

"We had an agreement!"

"That's not- can you just forget Carver for a moment?"

"Why do you want to talk about this? If you're going to give me 'professional advice' I'd rather not hear it. I didn't catch anything, so just drop it."

"I just want to know why- I mean, I didn't think you …approved of other men."

"Do I seem that intolerant?" I deflated slightly, "I'm sorry, Anders. I didn't mean to offend you, if I have at some point."

"Were you curious?" he asked.

"Yeah, I suppose so."

"You could have come to me, you know."

"What?"

"You didn't have to go to some whore," he said, putting his hands on my shoulders and staring at me intently.

"It's not like I set out to-"

"I was here all along. I care about you. I would have done anything you wanted me to. I would do anything to keep you safe."

Oh no. "Anders, hang on just a minute."

"I know this is a completely terrible idea, and if you have any sense you'll turn me down, but just give me one chance."

I wasn't given the opportunity to respond to that, as he shifted his hands from my shoulders to my jaw and neck, and kissed me.


	32. Defense Claims Carta 'Dwarven Culture'

I'd never kissed a man before. Never been kissed by one, more to the point. Anders didn't smell of perfume or make-up, he smelled like sweat and saltwater. His stubble scraped my cheek and his teeth scraped my lips, but hell, a kiss is a kiss and it's a language I spoke.

Anders' lips and breath, and fingers tangled in my hair, spoke to me of an intensity of feeling that made my heart ache in sympathy. I could feel his hands shake, and he whimpered against my mouth.

It was all I could do to keep my jaw clenched and my teeth gritted. I looked away from Anders' closed eyes and watched the moths flutter around the lantern above us, their wings rustling softly against the paper.

After what seemed like an age, Anders pulled back. I allowed myself finally to take a breath, a shaky one, and I could taste faint traces of smoke and coffee on my lips. He looked about as one might expect - his eyes half-closed and his pupils wide.

And now we got to the next part.

"I…" He was still catching his breath. "I've wanted to do that for so long."

I dug out a cigarette and my matches and made a bit more space between us by lighting them. "I noticed," I said.

"I know this was a terrible idea."

"Sad to say, most of your ideas are." I offered him a smoke but he shook his head.

"You never hesitate to help but you're freer than any other mage I've ever met. You didn't pull back when I told you about Justice, you're honest and-"

"All right already! You actually paid me for this job so I don't need a reference."

"I couldn't help but fall for you. But I thought it was too much to hope for that you'd be queer. And then Carver told me, and had to take that chance, don't you see?"

"I see fine." How wonderfully logical.

"But you didn't react. Did you hate it?" He looked at me with such big, sad eyes I immediately wanted to throw him a lamb chop.

"Your technique is fine," I told him gruffly. "But that don't make any difference. I'm sorry, Anders. I ain't the fella for you. And before you go moping about it, it's not you, okay?"

"You're not seriously going to give me that, are you Trip? I expected better from you than 'it's not you it's me'."

"It ain't me neither!" I snapped. "It's someone, else, okay?"

"I …oh. So if there wasn't anyone else…"

"I don't know, Anders. Maybe?" Hell no. "What does it matter? At the end of the day, we're just where we started."

Anders nodded, "Right. Absolutely. I'm sorry."

"It's okay, man." I wanted to go home now. Anders sort of looked like he wanted out of my company as well. He kept glancing at his door.

"Look, uh, good luck, Trip." He gave me a sad, slightly bitter smile, "I wouldn't wish an unrequited love on anyone I was unrequitedly in love with." With that parting shot he ducked inside, leaving me alone with the moths.

* * *

><p>"You were right," I told Fenris when he arrived the next morning.<p>

He was carrying the paper under his arm and he brandished it at me, "And here I was about to congratulate you for _not_ making the front page after a night slaughtering Templars."

"It'll take 'em a while to find 'em," I said. What difference does it make to a man after he's dead, where his body lies? Those Templars were embalmed with the smell of the sea, and their fortress rising above them like a tombstone. It was more than they deserved. "But even when they do, I figure they'll want to keep it quiet. They got what was coming to them, Fenris."

"Your brother's a Templar, isn't he?"

"He will be. If he's lucky, he'll change them for the better. If he's not, they'll change him."

Fenris sat in his usual seat. "Did you get away clean?" he asked.

"Yeah. The only survivor doesn't know our names. Doesn't even know I'm a mage." I sat up straighter in my chair, "But I'm done."

Fenris raised his eyebrows.

"Every time I lend Anders a helping hand, I nearly get it shot off. I help my friends because I'm just that kinda sap, but Anders took it the wrong way."

I told Fenris what had happened on Anders' doorstep. There wasn't a lot to say, but I wanted him to hear it from me, rather than from Anders. At least this way I would be prepared to duck.

Fenris merely shook his head, "You really can't stay out of trouble, can you?"

"What can I say? I'm just an incredibly charming, handsome fella who-"

"I don't need to be reminded of your good points," Fenris said with a faint smile. "I'm already aware of them."

It was kind of odd for such a clear winter's morning that the temperature in my office should kick up a couple of degrees for no real reason.

Fenris didn't hang around for lunch.

"I might return home," he said, not quite meeting my eyes. "I'll be opening some of the wine tonight, if you're interested. I have something to celebrate, and today is as good a day as any."

"Yeah, I'll be there."

Hot damn, I had a date.

And then my telephone rang.

"Ah, Hawke." The Arishok spoke as if I'd been the one calling him. "You might want to look into something for me."

"You're hiring me?"

"No. I'm merely telling you there's something you might want to look into. Whether you do or not is your concern."

I sighed into the phone, "All right, shoot."

"There's something in the water, down by the Alienage. Your police are paying no attention; they are writing it off as usual Lowtown violence. And yet, of all the elven corpses found dumped in the bay lately, the majority belonged to those who have submitted to the Qun, or their families."

"What happened to them?"

"That is for you to say, Hawke." The Arishok hung up.

I was left scratching my head and wondering what the smart thing to do was. Smart or not, I went uptown to the precinct to visit Aveline.

"Kirkwall's a rough town. We pull bodies out of the harbour every week. Most of them never even get a name before the city cremates them. That way the families don't have to pay."

"But you do write down the details somewhere, don't you?"

"We're not completely incompetent, although I'll grant you it doesn't feel like that sometimes. Look, no one's said anything about a sudden surge in Alienage deaths."

I raised my eyebrows. Aveline sighed.

"Go buy me a coffee at the diner across the street. And a slice of apple pie. I'll flip through the morgue reports and I'll meet you in twenty minutes."

Aveline took twice as long before I spotted her hurrying across the street to the diner. I'd already eaten the apple pie and the coffee was cold so I signalled to the waitress for some more.

"Dammit, Trip." She flung herself into the seat opposite me and started pouring sugar into her cold coffee until I explained there was more on the way. "Every time you walk into my office I just know I'm going to be eating crow twenty minutes later and making myself Miss Popularity again. Half a dozen deaths in the last fortnight alone, and all of them were beaten to death."

"Someone's starting an elf-only boxing tournament."

"Only if they have an over sixty-five women's division. They weren't you're usual brawling types. Men, women, even a kid. Andraste save us Trip, what have you found? Tell me you know what's behind all of this. You must have asked me for a reason."

"I got a tip-off from the Qunari embassy that not all was well down in the Alienage. According to the Arishok all your victims were friends of the Qun, or their families."

"Well," Aveline exhaled, "that gives us a motive. The fine upstanding folks of Hightown aren't the only ones unnerved by these elven converts."

"I'm going to take a look around, see what I can dig up. I'll keep you informed, so stay by the phone."

"I won't be going anywhere. And thanks for the pie."

* * *

><p>The Alienage in winter was a depressing place. Damp rose from the cold, shadowed alleys, and the shabby unpainted walls that managed to look cheerful in the summer sun only looked grimy and aggressively neglected.<p>

Merrill wasn't in. Not that she ever seemed to have any idea what was going on in the Alienage. I got the impression she avoided her own people and they in turn politely avoided her. Dalish were few and far between here, and tended to be regarded with suspicion.

Not many people wanted to talk to me, but I was persistent. I didn't sense a great deal of anger, but the deaths were regarded as shameful somehow.

"I didn't expect anyone would much care." At last I'd found an elf willing to talk. He was mending fishing nets in a small patch of sunlight, and chewed my ear for about half an hour about why the fishing permits the council issued were unfair, and forced honest fishermen like him to fish illegally. I couldn't have been less interested, but I sensed he had something he wanted to say.

"When they fished poor Noela's boy out, do you know she laughed?"

"Noela did?" I asked.

"No! Saliana." His lip curled, "To laugh at such a thing, more shameful than the act itself."

"What act? The murder?"

"He wasn't murdered, lad. Nobody else killed him. Except maybe those damn lies the goats were feeding him."

I thanked him for his time, and walked on. I had seen a follower of the Qun immolate themselves before my eyes, but I didn't think this was a similar case. Besides, what kind of suicide beats himself to death before hurling himself into the sea?

Whatever theories I was hatching they were all blown away when I talked to Noela. The poor woman had seen her own son, incoherent and blind with rage, attack the walls of the street he'd lived all his life in, dashing his head against the brickwork before running down to the pier and falling into the sea. He was dead by the time they hauled him up again.

It was late afternoon, and I had an appointment this evening. But I couldn't let this go just yet; I had one other name to chase up.

Saliana lived in a huge rotting shack right by the water, on the edge of the Alienage. There had been no trouble getting directions; everyone appeared to have heard of her. The place reeked of decaying fish. Barrels of them were just left beside the doorway, and it was so overpowering my eyes watered.

Felt real bad.

I knocked. I shouted.

I kicked the door in.

I was expecting to be hit with another wave of fish stench, but an altogether different odour assaulted me. Sharp and chemical, it made my stomach roll unhappily.

The shack was deserted; I could see that at a glance. It comprised of one large room, most of which was empty. A collection of scientific apparatus littered the long bench pushed against one wall. The smell was stronger here. There was one door, which led to a garage, also empty, but only recently. I could see oil still glistening on the stained concrete floor.

I went back to the bench. Along with the glassware were pages and pages of notes, written in a cramped hand. Most of it seemed to be some sort of polemic against the Qun, the kind of frothing rage you see on street corners closer to election time.

Pinned to the wall above the bench was a large piece of paper I at first took to be a map, old and faded, torn in one corner and covered with dust. I wiped the dust away.

A blueprint of some sort was revealed by my hand, hopelessly complicated. But this document did have a name. I was staring at a utilities blueprint for Kirkwall waterworks. It all ended up in the same place; the harbour.

And it all started from the same place, the waterworks below Lake Tahawat, Kirkwall's only source of freshwater aside from a couple of wells.

The smell of the fish and the chemicals was too much for me. I practically fell over myself getting outside, and as soon as I found a patch of fresh air I sucked it down gratefully.

I couldn't just hang around all day breathing.

I interrupted a neighbouring family's evening meal and they told me Saliana had a pickup truck that had gone out not half an hour before I'd arrived. The back had been loaded up with metal drums.

"I need to use your telephone," I told them. "I'll pay for the call."

They looked at me like I'd spouted an extra head.

"No one has a phone in the Alienage," they explained. "They haven't even put the wires in, and no one could afford to get 'em put in. There's a public box at the top of the street though."

I shouted my thanks over my shoulder as I darted back out the door and started running. The evening rush of pedestrians parted around me as I pelted up the slope. By the time I got to the top, I was wheezing like an old boiler. And of course, there was a queue for the one and only phonebox for three blocks.

I skipped the queue, yanked the handset out of the indignant elf's hand and replaced it with some coins while the people behind me muttered and stamped their feet with indignation, like harnessed dray horses shying at a ford. For once being human in the Alienage paid off, because no one was game to try and break my jaw for my impudence.

"She'll call you back," I said into the mouthpiece, and hung up. When I got the operator, I asked for the police and gave Aveline's extension.

"Trip!"

"Aveline. I think someone's going to try and spike the waterworks. We're looking for a dark green pickup with barrels in the back. Should be driven by a female elf with a fixed grin. I dunno what's in those barrels but for the Maker's sake don't let her spill any of 'em."

"Where are you?"

"About to get mobbed in the Alienage. I'll try and get a taxi."

"You won't find one in the Alienage. I'll come and get you. Meet me at the south end of the Grocer's Plaza."

She hung up.

"You'll thank me in the end," I told the assembled elves as I gave them back their telephone. I'd just managed to catch my breath, so set off at a brisk trot for Grocer's Plaza.


	33. Mages Demand More Visiting Rights

Aveline was waiting for me when I arrived at Grocer's Plaza. She leaned over and opened the passenger side door and I staggered through it and collapsed on the seat. She'd floored it before I'd even managed to shut the door after myself.

"This better not be your idea of a practical joke- move it, fathead!" She leaned on the horn.

"If it is, it's not very funny." I lit a cigarette. It wasn't like there was anything else for me to do right now. "I assume it's not just us in hot pursuit."

"No. We contacted the waterworks and they're braced for trouble. But all they've got out there is a couple of engineers with wrenches. It's not what you'd call highly secure. I shouted at some people and I managed to get three cars assigned to your little hunch. And if nothing comes of it, I won't have a job tomorrow, oh what is the hold up?"

I let my hand flicker for a moment, "Want me to shift them out of the way?"

Aveline snorted and shook her head, "Don't even think about it. So are you going to tell me how you went from a few busted skulls in the Alienage to, well, whatever this is?"

"Yeah." I told her everything I'd found out and she was silent for a while.

"So this Saliana is going after the Qunari by putting something in the city's water? Seems a bit drastic; she has to drink too."

"I think she's ready to clear out or die trying; the shack was almost empty. I don't think we've got the whole story yet though. There's something more to it. I have a feeling the Arishok had at least some idea of what was going on, even if he didn't know the details."

Aveline sighed as we turned sharply off the main road. "If I never hear the word Qunari again it'll be too soon."

Lake Tahawat lies in the mountains above Kirkwall and has served as its water supply since the days of the Tevinter Imperium. The Imperium dammed the original river and conveyed the water to the city via a series of stone aqueducts. Nowadays the waterworks manages it all through pipes, but the aqueducts were carved out of the side of the mountain, and are now used as roads. They remain to this day the only route to the waterworks itself.

The sun had set, and as we wound our way up from Kirkwall the lights of the city disappeared behind a spur of rock. We could see a set of lights in front of us, and when Aveline recognised the police car she pressed the horn insistently before swerving around them.

I was very glad the long drop beside us was lost in the gloom.

A single pair of headlights was visible further up the slope and trailing along a fair distance behind was a couple of police cars. Aveline drew even with the leading one and they shouted at each other for a while.

The gist was, the elf had a gun and she'd already shot one of the barrels when the police drew too close. As instructed, the police cars had dropped back to avoid the chemical. I could see a thin wet trail on the road ahead of us, leading off into the dark.

"Now what?" Aveline asked. "If we come on the outside, that truck's heavy enough to run us off the road. On the inside, we go right into the cliff face. And it's leaking Andraste knows what behind it. If we wait until she gets to the waterworks she can take hostages."

"I'll risk the stuff," I told her. "Worst to worst I'll hurl the stuff off the cliff."

"That would be best avoided."

"It'll be a last resort; those things look heavy, even for a mage."

"It's your funeral. Any more requests?"

"Yeah, no flowers, just dancing girls."

Aveline gunned it. The pickup wasn't the most powerful motor, and weighed down like it was, our police car had no problems catching up to it. I flinched as a bullet ricocheted off the mudguard.

"She's trying to take out the headlamps," Aveline muttered, swinging the car out of view from the driver's side of the truck. "Smart girl."

"Yeah." Without lights, the road would be impassable in the dark.

I swung myself out onto the bonnet of the car, the metal hot beneath my rubber soles. I could smell it now, that sharp chemical smell that the fish had been unable to completely mask back at the shack in the Alienage. If it was the suicide soup I feared it might be, I hoped it required a higher dose.

By the light of Aveline's headlamps I could see something dripping off the left hand side of the truck. I burned my fingers scrambling down the bonnet on the right hand side, and jumped.

It wasn't that hard. Easier than chasing down Merrill's motor from the cable car, that was for sure, and I couldn't actually see the scenery passing by to spook myself. I hung on to the back of the pickup for grim death and pulled myself up onto the barrels, feeling slightly light-headed.

I tried to keep my head in the clear air of the slipstream and I clambered over the barrels towards the cabin. I caught a glimpse of feral eyes slitted in fury looking out through the back window. I ducked and a bullet whizzed over my head as the back window shattered.

Finally, a dumb move.

I grabbed a handful of force and punched it through the broken window. I was nearly thrown off the truck as it skidded sideways, sparks flying as it scraped along the rock wall. I hauled myself back up and opened the passenger door.

"Lunatic!" the woman hissed as I lunged in. She was trying to straighten up the steering wheel, the gun in her lap.

"Look who's talking."

I punched her. Her head cracked against the window beside her and she fumbled for the gun. I grabbed her wrist and pointed the weapon away from me while she hissed and spat in my face.

She grabbed the wheel with her free hand and yanked it. The truck swerved sickeningly towards the abyss on our left and I grabbed the wheel and hauled it back. She couldn't win; I was much stronger, and I ignored the kicks she aimed badly in my direction. Sparks flew and metal squealed in mechanical pain as we juddered along the rocky cliff wall, and eventually came to a stop. She was babbling incoherently about the Qunari stealing the young. I dragged her back out the passenger side door and immediately threw myself on her as she made a leap for the freedom of the chasm below. At least the chemical seemed to have stopped leaking. The bullet must have gone through close to the top.

Aveline drove as close as she dared before getting out of the car and meeting us halfway, handcuffs gleaming in her hand. I could see more police cars on their way up. Aveline read Saliana her rights, although I doubted it would ever come to court. The elf was bound for a padded cell, not county.

They'd have to get some folks in gas masks to clear the road up properly. One of the uniformed policemen was putting up 'road closed' signs. I parked myself a little distance away and let them do what they had to, smoking to clear the taste of that chemical out of my mouth.

"Disaster averted, well done Trip," Aveline said as she drove past to pick me up.

"Another feather in the cap of Officer Vallen?" I asked as I got in the car beside her. The elf had already been taken back.

"Don't bet on it. If I'm not careful the Sargent's going to chew me out for letting a civilian risk his neck apprehending a suspect, and I don't blame him." She frowned.

"You didn't have any choice," I reminded her.

"I can't really tell him you're an apostate though, can I? Don't get me wrong, the entire city owes you a debt of gratitude, but don't bet on anyone expressing it. If I tell my story right, they're barely going to know you were even there. It's not the story I'd like to tell, but."

"But it's the safest one. Don't worry about it; you know I don't do this for the glory."

"I thought you said no one was paying you."

"Well, that's true too. I guess I do it for the fun."

Kirkwall hove into view before us, alight and alive and not going mad any more than it usually did.

"Do you want me to take you home?" Aveline asked.

"Take me to the embassy. This isn't quite over, and I suppose the Arishok will want to know what happened."

"Don't turn into his errand boy, Trip. That's not a healthy career choice."

"I wouldn't worry. As far as I'm concerned he's a suspect not a client."

Aveline dropped me off in Hightown, right outside the embassy, and I didn't have to wait long before I was shown into the Arishok's throne room. He tilted his head and watched me approach with mild interest.

"So, what was that stuff she cooked up?" I asked. I had the feeling he knew.

He didn't seem surprised by the question. "It's a poison developed in Par Vollen. It sends our enemies mad, but does not affect us. It has won us many battles against the Imperium."

"What the hell was a Lowtown elf doing with a dozen barrels of it?"

"The formula was stolen from our embassy." He stared at me steadily.

"So, you knew this was going to happen. If all she stole was the formula." And where had I heard that word before? "It must have taken her weeks to make that amount of stuff and test it on neighbours she didn't like. You waited until the last possible minute and then you told _me_."

"Who else would we tell, Hawke? If this city means as much to you as you claim, you would have found a way to save it. And you did."

"What are you trying to do here?" I asked. "If she'd succeeded, you would have been blamed."

The Arishok smiled. "And who would have been left to blame us? Besides, the judgement of the _Basra_ means as much to me as the buzzing of a gnat."

"If your formula was so dangerous, why the hell didn't you lock it up better? Why do you even have it here in the first place-"

I broke off as the Arishok regarded me knowingly. "I do only as the Qun commands."

"Are you making threats? Is that what this is all about? You know that will only end in bloodshed, don't you?"

"If that is what the Qun wills." His teeth gleamed in his mouth.

"Like hell," I told him. "You threats won't work. I'm not going to do your dirty work for you; no one is even going to know you're involved."

"You know, Hawke. That is enough. For now."

I was dismissed. I stalked out of the embassy and stood on the pavement outside for a while, staring up at the dimmed stars and wondering how I managed to get myself into these messes.

The Arishok was spoiling for a fight. If he'd wanted one, he had plenty of willing opponents in the Chantry and at city hall. But he'd picked me instead, a gumshoe from Lowtown, to represent the city he despised so much. There wasn't a lot I could do about it; if he called again, I knew I'd have to jump through whatever hoops he held out for me. The events of the evening had taught me that I couldn't afford not to.

I hunched my shoulders and walked off; it was probably a bit late for the trams to be running, and I was starving. Maybe I'd just get a bite to eat-

Shit.

Fenris.

The Chantry belltower chimed a quarter to ten in the distance. I'd spent hours up that wretched mountain.

I flung my hand out at the first taxi I saw and told the driver that I was in a hurry, my hunger forgotten. He looked a bit puzzled when we pulled up outside Fenris's mansion, but at least the police tape had long gone and Fenris had sort of fixed his door so it didn't hang open. I tipped the driver and hurried up the path.

The door opened as I raised my hand to knock. Fenris leaned against the doorframe and folded his arms. He regarded me with an amused, indulgent look.

"Fenris! I'm sorry I'm late. You really need a phone, pal. Actually, I could have used your help, but I managed somehow."

"It can't be helped," he said. I could smell wine on his breath. "You'll forgive me for not waiting, won't you?" he asked dryly as he stepped aside and let me in.

"I'm sure I could bring myself to eventually."

He led us upstairs with a relaxed, sauntering gait. I found myself wondering how long he'd been drinking. I glanced around at the living room as I passed, and noticed it seemed a lot emptier than usual, and my feet weren't crunching on charred carpet like they usually did.

"Did you clean the place up?" I asked. That would explain why he left at noon.

Fenris glanced over his shoulder at me and shrugged. I grinned and followed him into his room.


	34. Dumar: Council Reform Overdue

Fenris's room was only dimly lit by a lamp next to his chair and glowing coals in the fireplace. It was cold enough now that almost everyone had a fire going at night, and a haze clung to Kirkwall every morning before it was swept away by the chilly north-easterly winds.

On the table stood three bottles of wine, two opened but only one empty, two glasses, and an upturned paperback. Varric was really churning out those novels. Fenris poured me a drink as I tossed my coat and hat on top of the dresser.

"Do you want something to eat?" he asked.

"I would love something to eat. I forgot lunch. And dinner, now I come to think of it."

"I'll see what I have." He padded back downstairs while I settled myself into a chair.

He returned a short while later with a few slices of corned beef, some bread, and an orange.

I raised an eyebrow at the eclectic meal, "This is everything edible that's in your kitchen, isn't it?"

"There are plenty of spices in the spice rack, if you'd like them as well," he said as he sat down.

I declined the spices and ate everything else.

"Do you want to tell me what happened today?" Fenris asked when I pushed the plate away.

I groaned, "Not really."

He chuckled, "Very well then. That bad, I take it?"

I leaned back in my chair and lit a cigarette, "Wouldn't it be great if everyone could just get along?" When he didn't answer me, I thought of another question, "You said you had something to celebrate, so what is it? If it's your birthday, I'm afraid I didn't get you anything, but I would have if I'd known."

"Trip, how could I possibly know my own birthday when I cannot remember the first fifteen or so years of my life?"

"They didn't write it down anywhere?" I asked.

Fenris just looked at me for a while. "It is, roughly, a year since I escaped Denarius. The anniversary of my freedom."

I smiled at him, "That is something worth drinking to." I raised my glass.

"Do you want to hear the story?"

"I want to hear anything you have to say. I like listening to you talk."

Fenris's eyes widened slightly, and he spent a second looking for a response. "You do speak your mind, don't you?"

"Eventually."

"I like that," he said softly. "Anyway, where should I begin? You know of Seheron, do you not? The Imperium has been fighting the Qunari over it for quite some time."

"The rest of us are not so secretly hoping they'll wipe each other out," I offered.

Fenris chuckled, "Not much chance of that, I'm afraid. Denarius did a lot of work there – dangerous work – and obviously I was there to protect him. We were working out of a military base for a while when the Qunari attacked. I won't bore you with the details-"

"Please bore me with the details." I poured myself another glass of wine.

"Very well." He smiled indulgently. "The ground forces remained behind to defend the base, while important people like Denarius were evacuated by boat. The Qunari had used their explosives to destroy the roads leading from the base, and taking the road would have made us a target anyway. I drove our jeep across country but eventually I attempted to ford a ditch that was too wide and the axel broke. We made the rest of the way on foot. The boats were casting off when we made it to the beach."

He paused to drink, his eyes clouded with memories.

"I dragged Denarius through the surf and saw him safely on board, but it was too late for me. I'd taken a bullet in the side, nothing too serious, but the captain refused to slow down for me. The last thing I heard was Denarius shouting at him." He smiled faintly. "He was furious at having to leave his investment and most successful experiment behind."

"I expected to awaken as a prisoner of the Qunari, or not wake up at all, but instead I had the good fortune to be found by the resistance fighters." He reached for his glass, "And they had the bad fortune to find me."

I was about to compare his resistance fighters with Anders and his friends but thought better of it. He continued.

"They nursed me back to health. I'm not sure they knew what I was or what had been done to me. I stayed with them for months, the length of the fighting season on Seheron, while I regained my strength."

"Did you work with them?" I asked.

"A bit. They did not demand anything of me. They were free. I'd never seen anyone so free before. It was like a dream."

"But it didn't last."

"No. The Qunari were eventually pushed back, and the Imperium retook what they'd lost, and further ground besides. And in their wake, Denarius came looking for me. I cannot hide from him. I think he tracks me somehow through my markings. The resistance were careful; they had learned how to hide from the Magisters. But they couldn't hide me."

"Denarius wasn't interested in them. They were some other Magister's problem in another department. If they'd handed me over, he would have gone away. But they didn't. They refused to give me up, and they fought to defend me."

"What did you do?" I asked.

"I, I killed them." Fenris bowed his head. "Denarius told me to. My master had returned and I carried out his orders like I had always done."

"_What_? Fenris, why?"

"What else could I do, Trip?" He looked at me pleadingly, as if I could give him an answer. "I had never known anything else in my entire life but service to Denarius and the Imperium. The time I spent with the resistance was just a fantasy, a dream. I had to wake up, it felt inevitable." He looked away.

I didn't know what to say. I reached out and brushed the back of his hand, the lyrium under his skin like ice-water to my touch until he moved his hand away. He finished his glass and took a deep breath.

"When they were dead, I looked down at their bodies and I just …couldn't… Denarius thought nothing had changed. He collected me and we returned to Tevinter. But I couldn't stay. Every time I closed my eyes I relived what I'd done in Seheron. I'd learned things from the resistance; how their shadow world worked. So despite the risks I let it be known I was willing to defect."

"I was contacted by an Orlesian agent. I gave him what information I dared, and in exchange he started giving me money. It wasn't money I wanted, but I knew it would come in handy later. I saved it. I couldn't let Denarius know I'd acquired funds from anywhere in the first place. Eventually, when the Orlesian agent and I had convinced each other of our sincerity, he helped me escape Tevinter."

"I was to go to Orlais, but I knew Denarius wouldn't be far behind, and I did not believe they would be willing to sacrifice the lives it would take to dissuade him. Not for me. I gave the agent all the information I could and then I gave him the slip. What day would be appropriate to celebrate a convoluted escape? I don't know. But it was one year ago this week that I stepped off a train in Denarim without being watched, without anyone knowing where I was. I've been running ever since."

"You've been staying here, in Kirkwall, long enough," I commented.

"I suppose that is true. Time flies when you're having fun. I believe I've found a position, a place, fortified enough where I might finally defeat Denarius. Now I wait for him. He must know I'm here, somewhere. But he has no power in Kirkwall, no allies. The Templars are stronger here than anywhere else. He is being cautious, but he cannot wait forever."

"What if he does; what if he's given up on you?"

"He won't. But if he does, I'll hunt him down."

"Is that really why you're staying here? Because of the Templars?"

"Not entirely. Until I came here, I'd never met anyone I could trust, anyone capable of helping me. You are a mage, but you are strong. Stronger than any other mage I've known. Stronger than Denarius even."

"I'm not going to kill him, Fenris. I don't murder people."

"I know. I would not ask you to. But your insistence on that fact is part of your strength." Fenris opened the last bottle of wine, and we drank in silence for a while, smoking and not looking at anything in particular.

"Thank you for telling me your story," I said eventually. "You do your best to remain a mystery most of the time."

"That's the way I like it. But," he looked me in the eye, "I've never told anyone that story before."

"Why not?"

"I never wanted to. And there has never been anyone to tell. Perhaps this is what it means to have a friend."

I couldn't just let that lie there. I didn't know if he was being oblique or not; my thinking was starting to get a bit fuzzy – I hadn't really drunk in earnest since Fereldan three years ago, and food I'd eaten wasn't really doing much to cut the effects of the wine. Prohibition had turned me into a lightweight.

I took comfort, of a sort, in the fact that Fenris had to be at least a bottle ahead of me and plunged on.

"Just friends?" I asked. "Or something more?"

Fenris sucked in a lungful of smoke, making the end of his cigarette glow.

"Trip, are you sure about this?"

"About what?"

"About me. You're a handsome fella and, heh, we've already established that I'm not alone in that opinion. I'm an assassin, an elf, and an escaped experiment."

I raised my eyebrows, "Are you fishing for compliments or do you genuinely believe what you're saying? Fenris, you're an elf, as you pointed out, and elves are practically by definition beautiful. Humans are great lumbering hairy beasts by comparison."

He smiled at that. "You are certainly hairy," he murmured into his drink.

"Besides, if I confined myself to people who are at least as attractive as I am, I'd be a very lonely man." I ran my hand over my hair.

"All right, I can see I'm not going to win that argument. But what about the rest of it? You can't deny I'm not exactly…" he trailed off.

"I'm an apostate shamus living in his Uncle's front room and making, during a good week, two gold. I'm not the kind of fella dads want to see picking their daughters up for dancing. I can't stay out of trouble of one kind or another, and I'm a disappointment to my mother."

"You are not."

"Maybe not. But that's only cause Ma's soft."

"All right," he held up his hand, "you've made your point. Repeatedly. It might bear some thinking about."

"Well, I'm glad you remember what the original point was, because I've forgotten."

"This is all new to me," Fenris admitted, steering the conversation right back down into a serious direction, after all the trouble I'd gone to to drag it out. "I've never let anyone get too close."

"Never?"

"When I was given these markings, the pain erased everything. Everything. And to be touched is a reminder."

"Does it hurt when I touch you?" I asked.

"No," he said carefully. "Not exactly. It reacts; I know you can't help it."

"What about someone who isn't a mage?" I suggested, although where I got such a dumb idea from I ain't entirely sure.

"Like who? I couldn't trust anyone. My markings kept me apart from the other workers. I wasn't allowed to mingle with them in the first place and they didn't trust me anyway. And besides, I never wanted to. It seemed pointless; I never met anyone who-"

"Wanted you? I find that hard to believe."

"Got to know me," Fenris said slightly reproachfully. "This isn't easy to talk about, Trip. I half expected you'd laugh at me."

"Laugh at you for being a virgin? Actually, I just kind of want to roll on my back and beg. Or raise a glass in commiseration."

Fenris frowned. "I don't like either of those options." He divided the last of the wine between us. Where had it gone exactly? "And now I've met you," it took me a while to figure out he'd picked up from his previous thread, "with your ridiculous sense of humour, and your cheap suit, and your smartarse grin, and your stubble, and your magic." He tossed back the last of his wine and showed for the first time just how much of an effect it had had. "What am I supposed to do with you?" He slumped in his chair.

"I could think of a few things," I said, toying with my glass but was not certain drinking any more was a good idea. "Look, if you don't like the idea, if you're not interested, I understand."

"It's not that. With you it might be different."

I got to my feet, and the room hardly moved at all. Fenris looked up at me as I stepped around the table to him. His eyes widened and he pulled himself to his feet defensively. He swayed and I touched his arm to steady him.

We stared at each other for a few moments, his nose about level with my chin. His green eyes looked almost black in the dim light of the room, and they never left mine. The fire had died long ago, and only the lamp remained.

"We could find out," I suggested softly.

His tongue flicked out over his lower lip, and I tilted my head a bit closer, breathing smoke and wine and something altogether more potent.

"Trip." He rocked back slightly, swaying out of reach, and I saw a wrinkle appear on his forehead. His gaze slid from me to the empty bottles on the table and then back again. "I – not like this. Please." He raised a hand to rub his forehead.

"It's all right," I stepped back. "I understand. Insisting on sobriety is only going to make it more difficult, but." I grinned at him and he managed a breathless, helpless little laugh.

"Probably."

"You'll understand if I get going now, won't you?"

He nodded, "Thank you. For visiting."

"Thank you for inviting me."

I collected my coat and hat.

"Um." Fenris was still watching me. He waved his hand vaguely to encompass, well, everything. "Some…other night, perhaps?"

I nodded, "Absolutely. Goodnight, Fenris."


	35. Council Budget Deadlock Continues

I wandered home, happily drunk in a way that I hadn't been for a long, long time. I didn't think I'd have any problems with demons in my dreams tonight. There was nothing they could offer me that life wasn't already providing.

I got home around the same time as Gamlen did, although he looked far less cheerful. We bumped shoulders as we climbed the stairs to the darkened apartment trying not very successfully to be quiet, but Ma was by now long used to Gamlen stumbling home at all hours; even I slept through it, and he had to walk through my room.

"Where have you been?" Gamlen asked, fumbling for his key.

"I had a date," I told him with a grin I suspect was remarkably stupid.

"Good for you," Gamlen said with a scowl. "Goodnight." He nearly closed my own door in my face.

I was woken up the next morning to the sound of insistent knocking on the door, and Merrill's voice asking if I was in.

In pain, more like it.

"All right, I'm coming!" I staggered out of bed and yanked the door open, "Stop hammering."

Merrill looked me up and down and giggled, "Why are you still in your pyjamas? It's nearly ten-thirty."

"Really?"

"Of course! Look, these are definitely pyjamas."

"Yes, I know they are." Talking to Merrill while one had a hangover is probably not recommended by any licensed physician. "What I meant was, is it really ten-thirty?"

Merrill showed me her watch and I beckoned her inside. Fenris was usually here by nine-thirty at the latest, but then I remembered he probably had a far worse hangover than I did. At least, I hoped that was the reason he wasn't here, and he wasn't having any second thoughts.

Merrill said she didn't mind waiting and so I went back into the apartment to have a shave and some coffee and put some proper clothes on. Ma was out the back doing the washing, and she saw I was up and shook her head at my state. She didn't chide me though; she just looked at the expression on my face and smiled.

"All right, I'm awake, let's try this again." I sat down at my desk. "Hello Merrill, nice day isn't it? So, what have you come to visit me about today?"

"I think I can use your help with something," Merrill said. "Varric said he was busy, he suggested you." She clasped her hands in her lap.

"I don't have any appointments today; I'll be happy to help. What's the problem?"

"Well, to start with I should probably tell you why I left Sundermount in the first place. You've been awfully nice not to ask about it. Varric said if I told you, you'd understand and not judge me like some other people might."

It was probably a good thing Fenris wasn't here.

"I was studying as Keeper Marathari's second. My job was to learn about the Dalish customs and traditions and magic, and preserve what we have left, uncover anything new we might learn, and to teach other elves the heritage that was taken away from us. But not all heritage is equal."

"You're talking about blood magic, aren't you?"

"Yes. Just as the Dailish do not fear or hate mages that are born among them, the Dailish did not reject blood magic either."

"Blood magic is dangerous."

"All magic is dangerous, but there it is."

"Okay, so they caught you practicing blood magic and threw you out."

"No! I didn't practice it. Well, not until recently. But I did study it. A lot of mages turn to it as a last resort, so they're not prepared. I had foreknowledge." She lifted her chin and looked me in the eyes, "I know what I'm doing, Trip."

I lit a cigarette, "Okay. I believe you."

"Well, Keeper Marathari didn't. I wasn't even using blood magic, but I was studying it. Our tattoos come from blood; it's an important part of our culture. We can't just pick and choose what we keep and what we forget. Every scrap of information we can find is valuable. But it became clear that if I was to continue on that course, I wouldn't be welcome on Sundermount. When the Keeper sensed visitors were coming, she told me it was my opportunity to leave, if I wanted it. I think she hoped to scare me into staying."

"You're not scared of much, are you, Merrill?"

"I'm scared of many things. I'm scared of being wrong, and I'm scared of never going home. I'm scared that all my work will be for nothing."

"I see. So, what can I do?"

"You remember those elves I scared off in the caverns up on Sundermount?"

"Yeah."

"They belong to another clan. It's, well, it's kind of like a family feud. The story goes back at least six generations. The point is; we're not friends. The bootlegging business has only made things worse, now we've got more things to fight over. Anyway, I'm still doing my duties; I'm still trying to uncover parts of our history, and when I heard through Varric's grapevine that some Dalish were selling a Dalish artefact, I knew I had to try and get it before it's lost for good."

"They're selling their own history?"

Merrill clenched her fists, "Our clan may have done some underhanded things some times in our dealing with them, but we'd never betray our past like this. We need to get it back, and that's why I need your help. I don't know who they're selling it to, or for how much. Probably more than I can afford to buy it off them."

"If they're selling it fair and square, there's not a lot we can do."

"It's our history!"

"It's not legally protected. Look, Merrill, I'm gonna help, but I don't want you to get your hopes up."

"That's all right, Trip. I know you'll do your best."

"Do you know what the artefact is?"

Merrill shook her head. It wasn't a lot to go on, but luckily I had a contact in the business of unscrupulous archaeology. And he probably owed me a favour.

* * *

><p>Professor Tethras was not happy to see us.<p>

His secretary was still flitting about us like an unhappy butterfly when Merrill and I strolled into his office. He dismissed her and frowned at us through a haze of smoke from his pipe.

"I don't believe we have any further business, Hawke."

"It's not like I take one client and then die, you know. I'm here to ask you some questions in your professional capacity."

He relaxed. A bit.

"My time is valuable, but it is available for a fee."

"You know, I did get a look at the inside of your warehouse before it went up in smoke," I said idly, and sat myself down in one of the chairs across from Bartrand's desk. Merrill hovered near the window, reading the titles on the back of the books on Bartrand's shelves.

"Fine," Bartrand scowled. "Ask your blighted questions and never darken my door again."

"Rumour has it there's a Dalish artefact that's recently gone on sale. Heard about it?"

"Heard about it? That knife-ear came into my office and tried to sell it to me." I sensed Merrill stiffen slightly at the casual slur. "At least he was polite enough to make an appointment."

"Why didn't you buy it?" I asked. "Was it not genuine?"

"It looked real enough to me. But what would I want with some Dalish trinket? If it was Dwarven, it might have been different. Besides, he was asking a small fortune for it; I'm not made of money."

"So you've seen this thing. Could you describe it for us at least?"

"It's a bronze dagger about yay long," he held his index fingers about ten inches apart. "It's got some of the Dalish writing inscribed on the blade and the handle – no guard – is decorated with a raised oak-leaf motif."

Merrill had drifted closer to the desk, her eyes never leaving Bartrand. "The Arulin'Holm," she breathed.

"Yeah, I think that's what he called it."

Bartrand recoiled as Merrill slammed her hands down on his desk and practically shouted, "The Arulin'Holm was stolen! It doesn't belong to that clan, it belongs to mine!"

"All the better I didn't buy it then," he said, eying her with some alarm.

"How could you let them get away-"

"Merrill," rather cautiously I put my hands on her shoulders, "it's not his fault for once; he didn't know."

"Are you done here?" Bartrand asked, wiping his forehead with a handkerchief.

"One last question; did the elf give you any idea where he might be staying, or who he might try to sell it to next?"

"Huh, I told him if he was looking for a wealthy elf, the only one I know of in Kirkwall is First Enchanter Orsino."

"Right. Thank you for your help, Professor."

"Beat it. Both of you."

I took Merrill to a café, and distracted her with coffee and cake until she calmed down.

"I think this is good news," I said.

"How? They stole it from us."

"Yeah, which means it's not legitimately theirs to sell. And it's legitimately ours – well, yours, to take back to its rightful owners."

"Oh, I never thought of it like that. That's such a relief. What are we going to do now? Talk to Orsino?"

"I think Bartrand was just joking about Orsino. He's locked up at the Gallows with all the other circle mages. You can't just make an appointment to see him, or bluff your way past a secretary. If that elf really did try to see him he would have got tossed out on his- Hmm."

"You're thinking something, I can see it."

"It might be worth paying a visit to the Gallows after all. If your elves really did try their luck there, someone had to notice."

"Ooh, that sounds exciting. I've never been to the Gallows. Now, we have to be careful not to tell them that we're mages, right?"

"Please, please don't tell them we're mages."

* * *

><p>Believe it or not, there's actually a bus that goes to the Gallows. It's mostly tourists, and friends and family of both mages and Templars. Carver would have taken this bus, in his crisp new bowler hat and brown coat.<p>

We circled around the harbour and wove our way through spectacular rocky scenery. Even the tourists grew quiet when we drew up to the Gallows. We disembarked, and the friends and family went over to the offices - new buildings attached to the front of the Gallows, their cheerful façade only serving to heighten the grim finality of the edifice behind it. The tour group was swept up by a tranquil guide and walked through the vast iron gate into the Gallows proper. We were alone.

"I don't really like this place," Merrill said. "It's all high walls and hard stone. At least the Alienage mud is a bit softer."

I found it so hard to believe Carver wanted to spend the rest of his life here, good intentions or not.

"Come on." I strolled over to the office, now that the group ahead of us had filed in. I tilted my hat back on my head and grinned at the Templar behind the desk.

"Yes?"

"I'm looking for the acquisitions department. I'm sure you fellas have one. My employer was informed you were in the market for some Dalish artefacts."

That got a reaction. "Not more of you saps! When we find out who's behind this, they're going to wish they'd never been born."

"Hold on just a moment, you're saying the competition's got the drop on us?"

"There is no competition."

"Now I assure you, once you see our offer you'll change your mind." I reached into my coat for my card.

"We're not buying anything, and if you don't get on the next bus I will make you get on it- ah hello, Sir!" The Templar broke off his tirade halfway through and sprung to both his feet and attention as a blond man with the kind of colourless eyes you see in cops sometimes, strolled in from an office behind him.

"We could hear you shouting in the mess," the newcomer said mildly.

"More peddlers, Sir. This is starting to look like a practical joke."

"Joke or not, the Templars must keep a certain composure around the general public."

"But not around mages, I suppose?" I broke in.

"And who are you?" he asked me. I handed him my card.

"Trip Hawke, PI."

"Cullen, Knight-Captain. May I ask what you're doing here?" He turned my card over in his fingers, although there was nothing on the other side.

"I have reason to believe someone's trying to shift a Dalish antique, stolen from my client's family."

"You could have just said so from the start," he said, handing my card back to me. "Miss?" He extended Merrill a hand.

"Oh, I'm Merrill, it's nice to meet you." She shook it and gave him one of her disarming smiles. He seemed only slightly disarmed.

"Right, well, I don't see any reason not to extend you our assistance," he nodded at the Templar still standing like a guardsman behind the desk. "At ease, and answer their questions." He nodded at us both and went back inside.

The Templar was no more helpful than he needed to be, but that was helpful enough. We were only a couple of hours behind our thief, and luckily he'd told him where he was staying in the hopes that Orsino would get back to him with an offer.

"All that remains is to go to the Alienage and find 'em," I said.

"I just don't understand how they managed to steal it in the first place."

"Was it heavily guarded?"

"Trip, we're Dalish. What little we have is always guarded." She chewed on her fingernails until I told her to stop.


	36. Man's Leg Severed in Cablecar Accident

We found ourselves in front of one of the ramshackle apartment blocks in the Alienage that always pretend to have rooms for rent. There are spaces you can hire there, and if you squint they look like rooms. These places are overcrowded and dirty, but have a kind of exuberance that isn't found in similar places in Darktown. For a start, elves love plants and there's enough sunlight here that every windowsill and balcony on the top few floors overflows with pots of greenery. I've seen matronly elves practically come to blows over more aggressive plants, and the legitimacy of a neighbour pruning them.

We fought our way through a gaggle of children playing Kick the Rock and into the lobby. We got strange looks wherever we went, and conversations died until we'd moved on. Merrill didn't seem to notice.

We climbed an exhausted staircase, and walked past an open door from which radio commentary of a wallop match was blaring. The floorboards creaked under our feet, and mould grew along cracks in the plaster of the ceiling. It would have been worse in summer.

We paused outside door 304. According to the Templar, that's where our thieves would be.

"Listen," I told Merrill, "if they see you, they're going to recognise you, or at least recognise your tattoos, and they'll know we're onto them. They might run, or get nasty and we don't want to start a fight. So just stay back out of sight for a while, and I'll see if I can get their story out of them."

I knocked on the door.

A young looking elf with blond hair and a face like a Chantry cherub answered it cautiously, opening the door only a little way.

"Yes, Shem?" he asked.

I waved my card at him, "I believe you have something for sale. I'm representing a client who has an interest in the item. Still got it?"

He took my card, read it, and then opened the door a little wider. I took that as an invitation. The room inside was as small and depressing as you might expect.

"Hawke, is it? You seem familiar." The elf did too, but I was too polite to mention it.

"My brother got his picture in the paper a couple of months ago," I said easily. "So, you understand I need to see the item before we can start negotiating," I said.

"What would you know about our artefacts? You're just a human."

"Enough to satisfy our client. For all we know it doesn't even exist."

He frowned at me. "Raise you arms, Shem."

"Just so you know this isn't the way we normally do business in Kirkwall." Nevertheless I raised my arms and the elf patted me down.

He stepped back and shook his head, "You're not armed."

"Should I be?" I asked.

"Not if you know what's good for you." He was trying to talk tough, but his face was working against him. I let him have his fun; it wasn't doing me any harm. He turned his back on me – stupid – and went over to the bed. There was a leather satchel on it and he opened it and removed an object wrapped in cloth. He presented it to me with a grave expression and watched me closely as I unwrapped an object that fit Bartrand's description quite neatly.

"How much are you asking for this?" I asked, practicing the kind of look a man who was expecting something covered in jewels might wear.

"How much are you willing to offer?" the elf asked.

I shrugged, "Oh I don't know. Four gold."

"Four gold? This item was used in rituals from before Arlatham, it has been kept by our people for countless years, and has priceless-"

"Then why are you selling it?" Merrill cried, her eyes bright with anger and indignation as she stood in the doorway.

The elf recoiled.

So did Merrill.

"_Pol_?" she asked, taking a faltering step into the room. "What are you doing here with the Arulin'Holm? Why are you selling it?"

Pol started backing away, although there wasn't anywhere much to back to. "Stay back, Merrill," he warned.

"What's going on? Please, Pol, talk to me."

He just shook his head, "Just leave, Merrill, this doesn't concern you. Please, leave."

"Does the Keeper know you're here? Did you steal the Arulin'Holm from your own clan?"

"No! I have Marathari's permission. And clan business no longer concerns you."

"He's lying, Trip," Merrill said. "He has to be."

"I think you should both calm down and discuss this reasonably," I said. This was turning into a domestic dispute and I really didn't want to be a part of it.

"There's nothing to discuss," Pol said. "Go away, both of you."

Merrill took a step past me, her hands held out beseechingly, "Pol, I won't hurt you-"

Pol didn't seem ready to take her word for it. He practically leaped backwards, and crammed himself through the window behind him.

"Go away!" his voice tore with real fear.

"Be careful!" Merrill said, "it's not safe." She darted forward, her hands outstretched.

"Merrill, back off!" I made a grab at her arm and missed.

Worse, she made a grab at Pol's and missed.

His expression didn't change much as he went out the window; still scared. I flung out my hands, trying to catch him in a net of force, but he was gone too fast. I flinched as I heard him hit the street below, like a sack of potatoes.

It was only three floors, a perfectly survivable fall if he hadn't been going backwards. Merrill let out a wail and leaned out the window. "Pol, oh Pol!"

I dragged her back inside after getting a glimpse of the body below. He'd hit the street head first; he wouldn't be getting up from that. "We have to go. It's unlikely, but someone might call the police, we don't need a murder charge even if they can't make it stick."

"Why did he do it, Trip? Why was he so scared?"

"I don't know." I shoved the Arulin'Holm into her hands, and dragged her out the door. Luckily, there was no one in the hall; everyone was probably staring out the windows instead. I hustled her out the fire escape and away through a back alley.

"We can't just leave him," Merrill said, twisting her head to look over her shoulder.

"Do you want to go back and tell the crowd what happened?" I asked. "Are you sure?"

Merrill wrapped her fingers so tightly around the Arulin'Holm I was afraid she'd cut herself. "We need to tell the Keeper what happened to him," she said softly. "And find out what's really going on; why he was here."

"Okay," I said.

"Will you come with me? Back to Sundermount. I can't face her alone, I'm so sorry, Trip."

I wasn't gonna say no.

* * *

><p>Merrill drove us up Sundermount in almost total silence. I didn't have much to say either, so I smoked and watched the scenery as we climbed steep, winding roads. A few blackberry bushes clung grimly to the banks beside the road, their leaves looking black and frosted.<p>

Back in Fereldan, they'd be expecting the first snows.

Merrill drove us right into the middle of her village. It looked much the same as it had in summer, only the grass was dead and dried, and the elves were wearing fleece-lined vests and caps.

They recognised Merrill's car, and the lookouts did not challenge us as we drove in. Merrill parked before the Keeper's weatherboard house, and killed the engine. Complete silence descended.

Merrill took a shaky breath, and I noticed her hands were trembling. "I'm always like this," she said. "Can I have a smoke, just quickly?"

I handed her my cigarette. "Courage," I told her. "I'm right behind you."

We alighted and Merrill strode over to the Keeper's door and knocked. Marathari opened it and nodded politely enough to me.

"Merrill, have you come back to us?" she asked.

"Keeper, something terrible has happened."

Marathari invited us into her house. I blinked in the gloom and didn't dare move lest I knock over something in the dark – I could make out vague shapes that might have been furniture. The smell of wood smoke was strong in here.

Merrill declined tea and a seat and told the Keeper what had happened in the Alienage.

When she was done, Marathari bowed her head in grief, "Poor Pol. Thank you for telling us of his fate. We shall have to see if we can retrieve his body."

"It probably won't be in the morgue," I ventured. "The elves don't let the city get involved if they can help it. They try and keep everything within the Alienage and avoid trouble."

"I see. Thank you. Will you return the Arulin'Holm, Merrill?" the Keeper asked.

Merrill frowned uncertainly, "Why did Pol have the Arulin'Holm in the first place? He was going to sell it! And he said you already knew about it."

Marathari sighed, "He was telling the truth, child. The enthusiasm with which some of our people have embraced bootlegging has caused its own problems. The people we deal with are not inclined to be reasonable. The clan owes money and we haven't been able to sell our wares as safely since the Carta got raided. Pay-offs went up."

"But this is our history! It's all we have!"

"It's tainted, Merrill. Perhaps it would be safer in the hands of someone who didn't know its true purpose."

Merrill's jaw dropped, "All this because blood magic? Magic that hasn't even been performed in hundreds of years?"

"We both know that's not true."

"I never would presume to use the Arulin'Holm."

"The damage has been done."

"Pol died because of this."

"He died because of _you_, Merrill. He feared you, and rightly so, and you kept coming."

"No, I didn't scare him, you did. What did you tell them about me?"

"Nothing more than the truth."

"If that's the way it is, I'm not giving you the Arulin'Holm back, I refuse."

"Are you sure about this, Merrill?"

"Yes."

"Very well, we will find the money elsewhere."

Merrill looked surprised, "I thought you were going to argue about it."

"Why would I? You have made up your mind, and fighting about it gets us nowhere. I don't enjoy this, Merrill. Nothing would make me happier than to see you come back to the clan again. We miss you."

"You know I can't do that," Merrill said quietly, "that I won't do that."

Marithari looked at me, "What about you, Hawke? Perhaps an outsiders perspective would help."

"You're a mage too, Keeper. You know what that means. Merrill's willpower and stubbornness should be something to celebrate; if she does not bend to you, she will not bend to a demon. Even if it wears your face."

"Then I hope and pray that your faith in your friend is not misplaced. Safe travels to you both."

We left Sundermount as we had arrived; in almost total silence.

When we were safely out of view of the Dalish villages, and Kirkwall lay somewhere beyond the rise ahead of us, Merrill pulled over and burst into tears. I rubbed her shoulder and let her cry into her handkerchief. She had plenty to cry about.

Eventually she fell silent. She produced a flask from the glove compartment and took a swig before offering it to me. I shook my head.

She wiped her eyes. "I wish I had a family like yours, Trip."

"I thought you said Gamlen was creepy."

She managed a faint smile, "But he let you stay in his house. He never thought to throw you out."

"Oh, I'm sure he thought about it." I looked at her seriously, "Merrill, you've got to do your own thing. Carver taught me that. You've got the Arulin'Holm, and now you have to take responsibility for it. Things will work out, you'll see. That clan up there is not the only clan in the world. When Ma left Kirkwall, she left her entire family behind. But she made a new one, the one you envy so much."

"I can't just make my own clan, that doesn't make sense."

"Why not? It doesn't have to be Dalish. I'd rather the elves hear what you have to say, rather than the Qun."

"That's an interesting idea." She smiled, "You're really smart, Trip."

"So they tell me."

Merrill fixed her make-up and drove us back home.

When we back to Lowtown, Ma heard Merrill's motor and came out to tell us that Varric wanted to see us.

"Us?"

"Everybody. He said to spread the word, so I am. I suppose you'll be visiting the speakeasy tonight? Should I leave dinner in the oven?"

"Maybe better just wrap it up for leftovers," I said.


	37. Orlesian Dancers Kick Up A Storm

Merrill went home to change, and so I decided to take Horse with me and walk over to The Hanged Man. As long as we went directly to Varric's suite, they wouldn't object to the mabari. As Varric had pointed out, he was better trained than a lot of their customers.

I met Anders on the street outside and it was incredibly awkward. We hadn't spoken or seen each other since the night he made a pass at me. He sort of flinched as I approached.

"Hello," I said.

"Hello," he said.

Horse sniffed Anders' knees and sneezed. Probably cat hairs.

"How have you been?" I asked him.

"About as you might expect," he retorted. He relented almost instantly, "I'll be fine. Part of life, isn't it? I just hope nothing's going to change between us." He regarded me with a worried expression.

"Of course not," I told him, although I wasn't convinced. I wasn't looking forward to Anders' reaction should he discover who his rival was. But I'd deal with that particular disaster when it eventuated; frankly, if a relationship with Fenris ever got to the public announcement stage, I didn't think there was anything Anders could possibly say or do to upset it.

Anders stopped at the bar to order a drink, while I went straight up to see Varric. Isabela and Aveline were already there, bantering coolly about the Prohibition. It was actually one of the few things they agreed was a bad idea, but each for completely different reasons.

Fenris was lounging in a chair near the fire. He caught my eye and we smiled uncertainly at each other for a moment before hiding behind more neutral expressions. Or trying to. He'd smiled at me. No second thoughts. It was a dizzyingly joyful feeling.

Varric came out of the bathroom and settled in his favourite chair. I told him Merrill was on her way, and that she'd had a rough day.

"What happened?" Isabela asked.

"Clan business," I said. "They were picking on her again, and someone she knew died."

"Poor kitten."

"Did she bring it on herself?" Fenris asked.

"No, no she didn't."

By the time the gathering was complete, we all had drinks of one kind or another and Varric had ordered a tray of snacks that I tried not to eat all by myself. Horse stretched out in front of the fire and Aveline sat on the floor, scratching him behind the ears.

"I suppose you're all wondering why I've asked you here today," Varric said. His smile faded. "To be honest, I don't really want to discuss it, but as we learned from last time, if one of us gets into trouble the others will hurl themselves into it as well without a second thought. I don't want anyone else getting hurt on my account."

That made us all sit up and take notice.

"So here it is," Varric continued. "Bartrand got his payout from the insurance company, but after the crackdown on the Carta, no one came to collect for a month and a half. So, like the genius he is, he started spending it. Now the Carta's back on its feet, it's calling in its debts."

"So we're back to square one?" I asked.

"Not quite. We can pay off some of it. Bartrand didn't mange to spend the lot."

"I don't see why that's a problem," Aveline said. "You won't get anywhere pandering to criminals. Tell us where they are, and we'll take care of them."

"It's not that simple, Aveline," Varric said. "The Carta is a dwarven institution. If we managed to scare them off in Kirkwall, plenty of my family still live in Orzammar. They don't have to threaten us directly here. Even you won't wipe the Carta out of Dust Town."

"So what do you need us to do?" Fenris asked.

"Nothing! It's not your problem." He glanced at Merrill, "But the last time I tried to keep my problems to myself, people nearly got killed. Now you know you don't have to sneak around. And if you come up with any good ideas to make money, I'll hear 'em."

"I've got one," Isabela said brightly. "It'll take a bit of planning-"

"No," Aveline said. "Whatever it is, just no."

"Spoilsport," Isabela pouted.

"The mining companies still have a reward out on that dragon that closed the mines in the hills a few months ago," Fenris suggested.

We fell silent, considering the idea.

"It's a good thought, Fenris, but I think it's a bit beyond us," I said. There were relieved nods. Fenris shrugged; apparently he wasn't afraid of dragons.

"I suppose I could sell the motor," Merrill offered.

"No." Varric frowned, "I'm not looking for donations. I'm just telling you so we won't have a repeat of last time. Now, why don't we order something more substantial to eat before Hero starts chewing on the furniture?"

Varric refused to discuss it further for the rest of the evening, and we all eventually went home. I didn't have any bright ideas – if I had, I would have tried them already on my own behalf.

I still thought it should be Bartrand's problem alone, but if the Carta were holding the rest of the Tethras family to ransom, Varric had no choice but to involve himself. Again. I did my best to come up with something over the week, but by the time Andrasday rolled around again, I was still exactly where I'd started.

Fenris and I unrolled the rugs we practiced on in Fenris's living room. He'd found them in the attic as the ones there originally had been reduced to charcoal.

"Have you come up with anything to help Varric?" I asked, sitting on a chair to take my shoes off as Fenris stretched and rolled his shoulders. Distractingly, I might add.

"Nothing legal," he said. "Your living proof of how difficult it is to make money honestly in this town."

I scowled. He had a point. "Well, I'm not fighting a dragon. Not unless we somehow enlist Flemeth and her flying machine to help."

"Who?" He watched me unbutton my shirt. "And what? A flying machine?"

"It's a true story. I'll tell you over lunch," I promised.

We started sparring. For us, quite badly. Guards weren't raised quite fast enough, opportunities were missed. I caught Fenris's punch, and deflected it, sending him staggering past me and almost into a wall. A clear point of advantage.

"Concentrate," I smirked, as he regained his stance and raised his guard.

His upper lip curled. He obviously took my advice to heart because he did unto me what I'd done unto him, but with a great deal more grace, and put me on the floor.

"Concentrate- whoa!" He was probably smirking as he moved away to let me stand up, but I was watching his feet not his face, and when he was on one foot I lashed out with one of my own into his knee and this time sent him sprawling. "Bastard," he hissed at me, his eyes alight but not angry.

I laughed at him. I hadn't even bothered to get up off the floor. Fenris did though. He regained his feet as fast as a cat and launched himself at me. I had good enough reflexes and just enough time to brace myself before he landed, a knee either side of my hips.

Wrestling, huh? This was new. Normally I'd have the advantage, but I supposed he thought he had me off-guard. He tried to pin my hands by grabbing my wrists, and I resisted valiantly. We bared our teeth at each other, muscles straining. Somehow I still had the desire, but not the breath, to laugh.

The stalemate could have gone on indefinitely, but I got one of my feet under me, and shoved sideways, trying to roll us both. Fenris instantly relented and used my own momentum to roll us again, practically throwing me right over him. I managed to get a hand free and we thrashed about, trying to find an advantage. We rolled off the rug and onto the hardwood floor, but we didn't stop until we had nowhere else to go.

My side hit the wall with a thud, and after a further scuffle, Fenris grinned triumphantly down at me as he pinned my hands across my chest. I didn't really care, and I didn't try to fight him off any further. Didn't exactly relax, neither.

We panted in each other's faces, trying to regain our breath.

"You know," I said finally, "if you'd wanted to sit in my lap you coulda just said. You're always welcome."

His jaw dropped, his eyes widened, and he flushed right to the roots of his hair. But he didn't move. I guess he couldn't really miss how welcome he was, but he didn't seem all that put off by it. He frowned, "I'm a man-"

"I'd noticed." I flicked my gaze down and back up again.

"Trip!" He scowled and tried to push my arms into my chest as I laughed.

"I yield, I yield! What are you gonna do now?"

His grip on my wrists loosened. "I don't know." I could see the lyrium lines on his neck move as he swallowed. "I think-"

I never did find out what Fenris thought, because someone had the ill manners to bang on the front door. And the front door opened, like it usually did when it wasn't treated with due care and attention.

"Fenris, are you home?" I recognised that voice.

Fenris jumped about a foot in the air, like a scalded cat. Before I'd had time to draw breath he was halfway across the room. I groaned and curled up slightly, rolling over onto my side as Isabela bounced into the room.

"So the rumours are true," she said gleefully. "You two _do_ spend every Andrasday morning naked boxing."

"Do we look naked to you?" I asked, crawling back onto the rug.

"Nowhere near naked enough," she sighed sadly. "Anyway, don't let me interrupt if you're in the middle of something."

"It's a bit late for that," Fenris said sourly. "I don't recall inviting you. Or even telling you my address."

"There aren't that many fire-gutted mansions in Hightown," she pointed out. She sat at the table and helped herself to a smoke from the pocket of my coat that was draped over a chair.

I'd calmed down enough that I could get to my feet and I did so, running my hands through my hair and brushing the dust off the back of my arms and shoulders as best I could. Fenris remained haunting the corner, his metaphorical fur still on end.

"Are you here for a reason?" I asked Isabela. "Or were you just curious."

She took her time answering, lighting her smoke and enjoying the view. I flexed my biceps in her general direction and she grinned. Fenris just looked self-conscious.

"I had an idea for helping Varric," she said.

"We're not robbing any banks," I said firmly.

"Perish the thought, Trip. Where do you get these ideas? At most we'd be stealing something that's not rightfully owned in the first place. The money would be freely given and rightfully earned."

"Alright, I'm listening," I said. "It can't hurt to hear it."

She turned to Fenris, "Have you any idea what kind of reward is on your head?" she asked.

"Has it gone up again?" he asked, folding his arms and leaning against the wall.

"The Tevinter Secret Service has put an open bounty on your head for five hundred gold dead and a_ thousand_ gold alive. That oughtta pay Varric's debt and then some." She leaned back in her chair and smoked triumphantly.

That was a lot of dough, I had to admit. But there were some problems with getting our hands on it. "Yes, but that would involve handing Fenris back to the Imperium," I pointed out. "Something I hope we can all agree would be a bad idea."

"Well we wouldn't let them keep him," she said. "We'd get the cash, and snatch him back. They'd be back where they started and we'd be a thousand gold richer."

"It's awfully risky," I pointed out.

"But it would work," Fenris said.

I turned and looked at him, "You're game for this?"

"Of course he is," Isabela said with a grin. "One last chance to stiff his old masters? Who wouldn't be up for that?"

"I have seen you outwit a Magister before," Fenris pointed out. "And if this draws Denarius out of hiding, so much the better."

"We'd need a really good plan," I said. "They're not going to be happy once this is all over. I'd rather not be on a Tevinter kill list by this time next week."

Isabela flicked a stray strand of hair out of her eyes, "Don't you worry, Trip. Really good plans are my speciality. We'll cook up a story, make a show of capturing our flighty elf, and conduct the handover somewhere with a home ground advantage."

"And round up all the help we can get," I added.

"Don't put your shirt on just yet, Hawke, I need to measure you up for some disguises," Isabela winked. "You as well, Fenris."

"Why would _I_ need a disguise?" Fenris asked.

"Well, you don't. But it couldn't hurt, could it?" She produced a tape measure from her purse and held it up enticingly.

Fenris caught my eye for a moment and shook his head as he went to fetch some glasses. We had a lot of planning to do. Our wrestling match would have to wait.


	38. Bullets and Magic Fly in Hightown

"There he is."

Fenris really made no effort to blend in, presumably as part of his strategy to lure out Danarius. It made him vulnerable, now I thought about it, but that was the game he insisted on playing.

"I don't suppose we could just hand him over for real," the fella sitting opposite me turned slightly to survey the crowd from underneath a broad brimmed hat. "It would save us an awful lot of trouble."

I rolled my eyes and smoothed down my moustache. It was attached to my upper lip like an overfed caterpillar with some gum Arabic and it itched. I thew some coins down on the table, and stood up.

"Let's go."

Fenris stepped through the crowd like it wasn't there and we fell into step behind him. For about three steps.

Without warning he accelerated like a startled fish, and if a blonde woman in a turquoise suit hadn't stepped out in front of him with a machine gun, he would have lost himself almost instantly in the crowd.

Anders and I flinched as the Tommy gun chattered, stitching a row of holes in the stone façade above shopfronts on the other side of the street, and sending stone chips flying. The crowd panicked, as we'd expected it would, and people started shouting for police and taking cover in nearby shops.

Given the sheer number of mobsters in Kirkwall, you'd think they'd be used to a bit of gunfire by now.

Fenris skidded to a halt and glanced around as the gun fell silent.

"Hands in the air, honey," the woman drawled. "This won't hurt a bit."

Fenris went for his gun instead. I reached him just as he drew it and ducked as he swung it at me. Anders had drawn his own weapon, on loan from Isabela, but was keeping a bit more of a distance. Which was smart of him, as Fenris wasn't pulling any punches as far as I could tell.

With Isabela, her Tommy gun, and her startlingly bold outfit on one side, and me, my bare hands and my new moustache on the other, it was an easy choice. Fenris' markings flared and I found myself thrown back against Anders, who managed, just, to keep his balance.

The street was almost clear as we enacted our drama. Traffic had either fled or stopped completely, and Fenris took advantage of it, pelting away between the cars. The trouble was, none of us were going to risk hitting and wounding, or possibly killing, him by actually aiming our guns.

There is a precipice that is always near me, never further away than the nearest stranger. I stepped off. I grabbed a handful of force, my right hand rippling with power, and punched the air.

Fenris hit the street with an audible thump. His hat fell off and rolled away in the dust. I kept my arm outstretched as he writhed and struggled beneath my magic. I could feel his lyrium burning through the force I was exerting as I gritted my teeth and pressed him down. He could struggle all he wanted; he'd lost his head start and his freedom.

Anders and Isabela were running towards him, Isabela with handcuffs and Anders with a stream of worried glances in my direction.

"'Urry up and get 'im!" I called in my worst and only Orlesian accent. "I can't 'ang around all day."

The crowd was silent. It wasn't Isabela's gun that cowed them now, but my mere existence among them. My lack of fear. There's a certain image that mages are stuck with. We are either terrified, scrappy apostates half-mad and on the verge of a breakdown, or sleek, perhaps slightly aloof circle mages in a gilded cage, as soft and harmless as an overfed lion at the zoo.

I was something else.

And I must admit it felt good. Despite my disguise, in a sense for the first time I was seen as I truly am. I could hear demons purring in my ears.

I released my grip on Fenris when the others reached him. Anders sat on him while Isabela wielded her handcuffs with expert efficiency, wrenching his arms behind his back and hauling him to his feet.

All my good humour drained out of me when I saw Fenris's face. One of his cheeks was covered in dirt and blood trickled from a cut on his forehead. His eyes were what bothered me most. They were shallow, almost blank, as if the person behind them had completely walled themselves off.

I'd never used magic on him before.

A car, stolen sometime earlier, skidded around the corner and Merrill, looking ambiguously fascinating in a fitted suit and smoked glasses, drove right up on the sidewalk to bring it to a halt near Fenris. I spared one last glance at the crowd and hurried over to it.

Isabela bundled Fenris into the boot and I grabbed Fenris's hat as we piled into the motor ahead of the sirens I could hear wailing in the distance.

We were silent as we drove away. We lost ourselves in traffic and stopped outside a diner so Isabela could dash in and make a phone call.

"I think that worked," Merrill said as we waited.

"You used magic," Anders said, shaking his head in wonderment, "on a main street. In the middle of the day. In Hightown. I don't know if you're incredibly brave or incredibly stupid. But you didn't kill anyone. No one got hurt. Meredith will try and argue otherwise, of course. But I'll write a pamphlet about it. 'Account of a Bystander', I'll call it."

"You weren't really a bystander though," Merrill pointed out.

"It's a literary device," Anders explained. "It makes the content more accessible to the everyday reader."

Anders probably would have gone on in a similar vein for a while, but I didn't really want to discuss his pamphlets.

"I used it on Fenris," I said. "I wish I hadn't had to." Even I could see I didn't have a lot of choice at the time.

"Oh, he'll get over it," Anders said. "I think he needed taking down a peg or two anyway. Good work, Trip."

I scowled, "I'll just be glad when all this is over."

Isabela returned with news. She'd already informed the Imperium that an attempt to capture Fenris would be made, and that they were to stand by with the cash. They were only waiting for confirmation.

"They've got a boat," she said. "They wanted us all to go on board, but I said we couldn't do that. No sense giving them the advantage. We argued about it for a bit, and they've agreed to meet us in Darktown tonight. We'll do the handover in a warehouse."

"Probably the same one they took Carver to," I suggested. "There's an open channel to the sea that goes right inside. Very discreet."

"If you know the building beforehand, that's even better," Isabela said. "We'll want to get there first anyway."

* * *

><p>Darkness fell superfluously on Darktown, marked only by the further greying of the light that filtered down from the city above. A few wretches had take up residence in the warehouse, and we unceremoniously booted them out, although I did tell them they were welcome to come back in the morning, assuming the place was still standing. Everything else, right down to the smell, was exactly the same.<p>

When we'd released Fenris from the boot he'd been pale and uncommunicative. I told him, as fervently and as often as I could that I was sorry I'd had to use my magic on him, and even sorrier if I'd hurt him.

Eventually some emotion returned to his eyes and I was greatly relieved, even if it was only irritation.

"Later, Trip," was all he said before lapsing back into silence.

As the appointed time approached, Merrill retreated to the upper area of the warehouse, to watch proceedings from an unseen vantage point. Fenris knelt on the floor in front of Anders' gun, and the rest of us just waited in a weird reversal of the last time we'd visited this warehouse.

The Imperium did not arrive by a rowboat this time. We heard the beat of an engine somewhere close, and the water running through the channel lapped more enthusiastically at the floor. A few minutes later, the boat itself edged in, one of the motorised rum runners, small and sleek and fast. They'd have the mother ship out beyond Kirkwall waters somewhere.

Alongside the driver stood a couple of sturdy fellas with machine guns, and a tall, dark woman with a fur cap that I'd since worked out meant 'Magister'. At the sight of her, Fenris tensed, and his upper lip curled in fury. I tried not to look at him.

Isabela strode forward, with a broad, gleeful smile.

"Welcome to Kirkwall," she said. "We've only been here a few days ourselves, but as you can see, we haven't been idle." She gestured towards Fenris, who hadn't taken his eyes off the Magister.

The boat was gently brought to a halt, although the engine was left idling as everyone except the driver disembarked.

"Well," the woman halted a few feet in front of Fenris, "this is definitely the elf we were looking for."

"His paintwork was hard to miss," Isabela said.

"And easy to fake," the Magister pointed out, "but no, he is the real thing; I'd recognise those beautiful eyes anywhere. And he remembers me; how gratifying."

"You can get acquainted later," I said harshly. I didn't like anyone talking about Fenris like that. "After we get our money."

"Of course." She snapped her fingers and one of her subordinates returned to the boat to collect two suitcases. He held them like they were quite heavy. He unlocked them both, one after the other, and opened them, showing us the gold that lay inside.

I'd never seen so much money in my entire life.

Isabela examined the currency a bit more closely, and then she straightened up and smiled, "Everything seems to be in order. Real gold for the real elf and no haggling. It's always a pleasure working with the Imperium."

"You've worked with us before?" the woman asked.

"Oh, here and there," Isabela said airily.

Anders hauled Fenris to his feet and gave him a shove in the direction of the boat. The Magister stepped aside.

"See that he's properly restrained, and take him back to Denarius," she said. "Don't wait for me, I have other business."

Fenris had been walking, head bowed and silent, but when she spoke his eyes lit up with fury.

"No!" he shouted. We all stared in horrified silence as his markings flared and he pulled his wrists apart. The handcuffs held for a moment and I held my breath, staring in amazement as the cold steel links bent and then buckled and then finally snapped, sending pieces of metal skidding across the floor; no match for Fenris's rage. He was unleashed.

This wasn't part of the plan. We'd given Fenris a key to the cuffs, and had a prearranged signal, but apparently neither of these things was needed.

"I will not let you escape, Hadriana," Fenris ground out.

Isabela flung her knives at the guards while Fenris hurled himself at Hadriana. He missed. She vanished and reappeared on the other side of the room, magic rising like a tide around her.

That was that. The battle was joined. Merrill's lightning sparked down from above, but it earthed itself harmlessly off Hadriana's shield. Anders was doing his best to protect us, as Fenris and I chased the Magister down. We split up; I went directly for her, while Fenris hared off to the side, anticipating another teleport.

She appeared behind Isabela and Isabela spun on her heel and punched her in an unladylike, but evidently effective fashion, for she teleported again.

I slammed my hands together using my own magic to try and crack her shield. Her magic was strong but felt unfocused. She took the easy way out, I could tell; she hadn't grown up having to hide and learning control. She bared her teeth and resisted me for a while, as I stalked towards her. But she wasn't game to let me get within arms reach, and she started backing away.

Right into Fenris's arms.

He grabbed her, pinning her arms, and head butted the back of her head hard enough that I heard the crack clearly above the noise of battle. She staggered, and went limp. He dropped her like a live spider and aimed a kick at her ribs. She took it, and curled up on the floor groaning.

"Enough!" I called, sensing the battle was over.

Even the driver of the boat was either dead or unconscious, although I wasn't sure who'd got him. He was slumped over the wheel, completely limp, while the boat still idled in the channel.

"Stop," Hadriana said feebly, "I surrender; don't kill me."

"Give me one reason why I shouldn't." Fenris loomed over her, and I could feel his lyrium as I approached, barely held in check.

"Let me live and I will tell you what I know," she said desperately. "I have information abou-"

"Fenris!"

There was nothing I could do. I was still feet away when Fenris knelt down in one swift motion and put his hand through her chest. He held her life his palm for a few moments. "I am through listening to you talk." He squeezed, and Hadriana's mouth dropped open, but she never said another word.

Fenris stood up, his back to us for a few moments.

"We're done here," he said flatly.

"Are you all right?" I asked him.

"Of course I'm not all right!" he snarled, turning on me. "I don't want to discuss it," he added stiffly.

"You killed her. She'd surrendered!"

"And what would you have me do?" he shouted back. "Just let her go? After all she's done to me, and after all they've done to me?"

"She said she had information-"

"About what? Danarius? She's like all the other mages; she'd say anything, or slaughter her own mother just to survive. There was no reason to believe she would tell the truth."

I decided to let the crack about mages slide. "You didn't think it was worth finding out?"

"No, I don't. The only thing that matters is that I finally got to crush this bitch's heart. May she rot, and all other mages with her."

"Well gee, thanks. Remember who you're talking to."

"I haven't forgotten."

"Then what was that supposed to mean? You know dammed well we're not all like your Magisters."

Merrill had descended from her vantage point, but everyone was silently keeping their distance while we had our row. I glanced over my shoulder at them. Anders just looked irritated, Merrill looked worried and I'm pretty sure Isabela was mouthing advice at me.

"And who should be our example?" Fenris was looking at them too. "Anders? Merrill? What does magic touch that it doesn't spoil?"

I like to think of myself as an easy-going fella, but you goad the kindest dog enough and it'll bite. "Well, safe to say it's spoiled you." I hurled the words at him, and they hit.

His eyes widened and he shook his head, "I- I need to go." He turned and practically fled.

"Fenris!" I made to follow him but Isabela called me back. She shook her head; now wasn't the time. Whatever potential our conversation may have started with, we'd blown it. I hoped he wouldn't just up and leave Kirkwall before he'd cooled down.


	39. Hunt on for Hightown Apostate

I really wanted to chase Fenris down, but I knew it was a bad idea, and we had a lot to do in the warehouse before dawn. We had two suitcases full of gold, a boat, and half a dozen corpses to get rid of. The latter wasn't difficult, but it wasn't a pleasant job. We weighted their clothes down with bricks we prised from the crumbling walls of warehouse and rolled them into the channel, to join all the other corpses that drifted into the sea from Darktown.

As I watched the dark water swallow Hadriana, I felt no grief on her behalf, but perhaps on my own. I knew - _I knew_, that Fenris did not share my convictions. He'd been a killer all his life, but it had been convenient for me to assume it was all in his past. But he was his past, and it still had a powerful hold on him. Friendly drinks at the Hanged Man and awkward advances weren't going to change that.

I wondered if anything could, short of tranquillity or a bullet between the eyes.

I was in a grim mood. Our task completed, we stripped the boat of anything that might identify who it had once belonged to and ditched that as well. Whoever found it first could take it.

The Tevinter agent who'd carried the suitcases must have been a circus strongman for his day job, because they were unbelievably heavy. It took two of us to haul each suitcase out of the warehouse and sling them into the back of the stolen car. Which was still there thanks to Horse.

Isabella took off her wig and I removed my moustache with some relief. We drove swiftly but mostly legally back to the Hanged Man. Isabela and Varric were by now not merely patrons but patron saints of the establishment, and nobody made any comment as we lumbered upstairs with our suitcases and dishevelled disguises. Were anyone to ask, we knew no one would admit to seeing anything. In fact, given Isabela's usual escapades – about which I tended to hear second-hand from Varric – this was barely worth noticing.

We tumbled into Varric's room. Isabela had told him to expect a surprise, but hadn't said what for fear he'd veto the whole idea and we'd be back to the drawing board. We heaved the suitcases up onto the bed, and collapsed into the chairs in front of the fire.

"There's a stolen motor out the back," Isabela said. "If anyone wants it they can have it."

No one wanted it.

Varric walked over and examined the contents of the suitcases. He whistled.

"That's quite a lot of gold," he said.

"How we got it is quite a story," Isabela replied. "And it's all yours, if you need it."

"I didn't know you were so generous," Anders said.

Isabela shrugged, "Easy come, easy go, right? Life's too short to penny-pinch. Take everything you can get your hands on and give it away again. It makes the world go round."

"What a lovely philosophy," Merrill said. "It's like the circle of nature, but with gold."

"They call it economics," I said, staring at the ceiling through a haze of smoke. I sat up, "You know I might head up to Hightown-"

"You're not going anywhere," Isabela said, she gave me a meaningful look, but didn't elaborate further in public. "Not until you've changed your clothes and gotten that black stuff out of your hair."

"That's a good idea," Anders said. "That is definitely not your colour."

Isabela sighed, "The story will have to wait. I'll go and fetch your clothes."

Merrill went with her to change in Isabela's room. While they were gone I gave Varric the short version of the day's events.

"All in all," Anders said, "it turned out pretty well."

"You don't care that Fenris killed Hadriana?" I asked.

"Do you? Really? He's a beast. I expected nothing more of him. And Magisters are well known for blood magic; I'm not shedding any tears on her behalf either."

I should have known better than to ask Anders about Fenris. Isabela returned with our clothes and we lost no time in changing them. After Anders was back to his usual shabby self I retreated to Varric's bathroom to scrub the black dye out of my hair.

"You missed a spot," Merrill giggled when I emerged.

"I suppose I should be grateful you didn't use boot polish," I said, going back. Anders offered to scrub it out for me, and I reflected that this was how Horse must feel every time we gave him a bath.

No wonder he went to extraordinary lengths to avoid it.

By the time my hair had returned to its normal colour, Varric had ordered up some food from the kitchen below. It was already too late to go home for a meal; Ma would have put my share aside as leftovers hours ago, and was probably already in bed.

It was where I should go too, I realised. It had started to rain, on and off, and if Fenris didn't want to be found, he wouldn't be at home anyway. Isabela and Varric gleefully discussed what exactly to do with the gold as they ate. Bianca was kept close; I know I was pretty jumpy that close to that amount of cash and it wasn't even mine.

After our meal we said our goodbyes and Isabela advised me again to just go home for now. I'd already made up my mind to do just that and I nodded and Horse and I hurried off along rain-slick streets before the skies opened again.

When I got home, the lights were off upstairs. Even Gamlen must be in bed; Ma would leave a light on for us, but Gamlen always turned it off when he got home. He claimed it disturbed his sleep otherwise. Well, that was good. It meant his coming home wouldn't disturb _my_ sleep.

I saw movement in the shadowed stairway leading up to the apartment, and the glowing end of a cigarette.

Fenris.

He'd been sitting on the bottom step, but he stood up as I approached, and stepped on his smoke.

"There you are," he said quietly.

"Have you been waiting long?" I asked, wondering why he was here. He didn't look angry, at least, not that I could see in the dim light of the streetlamps and their reflections behind me.

He shrugged, "Long enough, I needed to think."

"I didn't know where you'd gone. I was worried about you." I felt a few spits of rain and ducked into the stairwell. Fenris made no move to go upstairs, but stepped slightly to the side so we could both fit in the alcove below the steps. Horse watched us for a few seconds, yawned, and then trotted away. He slept under the back steps when he was too smelly to come inside, which was every time it rained.

Fenris took a deep breath, "You don't need to worry about me. I was just thinking about what happened today. About what happened to Hadriana. And then how I took out my anger on you, undeservedly so. I was not myself, and I'm sorry."

That wasn't what I was expecting. Fenris was looking me in the eye, talking as calmly and plainly as he ever did.

"It wasn't all one-sided; I lost my temper too, and I'm sorry I used magic on you," I said.

He smiled, "So you've said."

"I thought I'd really messed it up when you stormed out."

"I needed to be alone."

"I'm glad it was just for a while," I added. "Fenris, I want to know what that was all about. Who was Hadriana anyway?"

"She was Danarius's prize pupil. He was grooming her to take over his position in the Secret Service when he retired. Then she would have been my handler." He looked away and I'd swear he was suppressing a shudder, "She was a torment. She wasn't cleared to access my lyrium, but she would insult me, deny me my meals and hound my sleep. It was her prerogative to do so."

"Did you tell Danarius about this? Surely he wouldn't have approved."

He raised his head and sneered, "Ask my handler help me, out of the goodness of his heart? I preferred to endure whatever Hadriana thought up. She wasn't that imaginative. Not like Danarius."

It occurred to me that Danarius must have misjudged Fenris badly if he hadn't recognised his pride and where it would take him. "It sounds like she was jealous of you."

"That might be true." It didn't look like the idea had occurred to him before, "She idolised Danarius, but he saw her as junior colleague, nothing more; _I _was his life's work. Don't you see? The thought of her slipping out of my grasp now – I couldn't let her go." He clenched his fists and then unclenched them as the anger drained from his voice and he looked at me sadly, "I wanted to, but I couldn't."

"Wait, after all that, you wanted to let her go?"

"Maybe you're a good influence on me. Or a bad one." He'd almost managed a smile, but it got away from him. "I don't want to be like this, Trip. You were right when you said magic had spoiled me. This hate, it's like a dark growth inside of me that I can never get rid of. I thought I was getting better, I thought I could get away from it. But I was wrong. To feel it again, and know it was they who planted it inside me, it was too much to bear."

I'm not the kind of fella who usually deals with things like this. I fight my own demons, but I don't make a habit of fighting on behalf of other folks. But I figured, of all people, Fenris was worth fighting for. At least, I'd try. It was breaking my heart that he'd finally opened up and this is what he had to show me. And he'd used my words to do it; careless, thoughtless words that I had instantly regretted.

"You don't have to bear it alone. Fenris, this will get better. You just can't see how much you've changed since you first came to Kirkwall, but I can. I know you can do it; you will be free." He raised an eyebrow at me, unconvinced. "You can take my word for it, for now."

"No, Trip," he sighed, "I didn't come here to burden you further. And don't tell me you're not about to try and fix everything because that's what you _do_. And I don't want to be your responsibility."

"You're not a burden."

"Liar." He spoke without heat. "This isn't why I came here, although I suppose I should have seen it coming. You have my apology; I should go."

"No, you shouldn't." I wasn't gonna keep him if he really wanted to leave, but he could at least wait until it stopped raining again. For most of his life, he'd never been given the option of walking away and I was glad he had it now, but Maker's Teeth, I was sick of watching him go.

I grabbed his arm.

I felt his lyrium burn through his sleeve, and he lit up, his teeth bared. I let go of him quick, an apology on my lips when he turned and grabbed my shoulders. He shoved me back against the wall and I narrowed my eyes against the glare, my heart pounding in my chest. I really hoped it would stay there; Fenris looked furious. It didn't occur to me to try and fight back.

I don't know what my expression was, but it seemed to bring Fenris to his senses. The glow faded, he loosed his grip on my biceps, and his fury was replaced by a look of dawning regret and I could see him returning to thoughts of dark growths, and magic spoiling.

No. He had enough to regret already.

His hands dropped to his sides and he took a step back. So I took a step forward. He didn't duck out into the rain. He looked a bit startled when he backed into the other side of the stairway, but he didn't move as I put a hand against the damp bricks on either side of his head.

I felt so nervous I almost wanted to be sick, but I had momentum, and I didn't stop. I tilted my head and pressed my lips against the corner of his mouth, quickly and firmly, like a teenager. I heard him breathe in sharply in surprise. I'd forgotten his lyrium; it burned against my chin for the moment that I kissed him and I pulled back slightly, checking just in case he was glowing again.

He wasn't glowing.

I'm not sure who kissed who, then. All I knew next was that his mouth was against mine and his arms were snaking around my back, and I really didn't notice any lyrium at all because his arms were around me and his hair was brushing my wrist and his breath was against my jaw and his nose was slightly colder than my cheek, and his teeth were-

"Ah!" Had he drawn blood? I didn't care. His technique was no technique at all; and it was simultaneously the most terrible and wonderful kiss I'd ever received. Our teeth clicked together, and my lip stung where he'd snagged it and if he thought licking it would make it better, it certainly took my mind off it.

I felt my hat tip back on my head and then tumble off somewhere. I vaguely hoped it wouldn't roll out into the rain and then I completely forgot about it.

I had Fenris pressed up against the wall, barely giving him space to breathe, but he didn't seem to mind. Instead he held me there, his arms tight around my ribs. After months of imagining it, I finally got to press my teeth into his generous lower lip, and when I sucked on it he gasped and his knees buckled.

I wedged my hip against his to help hold him up, but forces stronger than gravity were inexorably urging us towards the horizontal. And there were far too many clothes between me and that strong, slender form I could feel outlined in lyrium against me.

"Trip," he breathed, and my name pulled his lip from my mouth. In the faint luminescence from the sodden city beyond our alcove, I could see an expression on his face that I could only describe as surprised and yearning, and maybe a touch awestruck. His mouth was slightly open and his eyes burned.

I kissed him again and nearly choked on my own emotion. His gun was pressed against my side.

And I could feel the weight of the automatic under his arm, too.

I would have let him go. Eventually. I'm a gentleman, after all. I figured we'd neck until someone caught a cough and I'd let him float home, drunk on lust. And then I'd take him to the pictures and touch his hand when no one was looking and we'd spend an Andrasday morning or six upstairs rather than in the living room. Or in the living room. Or any room he liked.

But his hands had found their way under my coat, and his breath hitched when I found the pounding heartbeat in his neck and his entire frame was tensed and pressed up against me. The Lyrium buzzed under my tongue and he shuddered.

"Sorry," I whispered, pulling my teeth away from his neck and pressing my forehead to his.

"'S fine," he spoke thickly, swallowing half the words as he tried to keep some breath to spare. "You can't help it." He held me like he was afraid I was going to disappear at any moment.

There was a lot I couldn't help right at that moment, and most of it Fenris was probably well aware of.

"Do you want to go upstairs?" I asked, and held my breath waiting for an answer.

His eyes grew wide. "Ah, hmm." His arms tightened for a moment before he answered me, "Yes."


	40. Wanted Apostate Still at Large

A/N This chapter contains mature content.

* * *

><p>I hit my shin on the bottom step as I grabbed Fenris's hand and practically fell up the stairs, fumbling for my keys. Neither of us said anything; it seemed vitally important to concentrate on getting inside. I finally managed to unlock the door and went in ahead of Fenris, letting go of his hand to cross to the door on the other side that led to the apartment and making sure it was locked.<p>

Fenris closed the front door and then closed the distance between us again. We met somewhere near the hatstand, and I slid my arms around his shoulders, and pretended that he fit perfectly against me, even as I had to dip my head to capture his mouth again.

We stayed like that for a little while, just standing there with our arms wrapped around each other. I was still stunned. If was if I was just barely learning to crawl when I'd grown wings and soared into the sky. I had no idea what it was like for Fenris. But he showed no hesitation, only eagerness, and strangely there was something almost relieved about the way he let me take some of his weight, and the way he opened his mouth at my insistence.

We had to stop eventually, and I tried to steer us backwards towards the bed. Fenris followed willingly enough, matching my steps with his own as we waltzed awkwardly, but I'd lost my bearings in the dark and ran into the end of my desk. I felt rather than heard Fenris chuckle as we came to another halt. He let me go and bent his head to concentrate on unbuttoning my coat and shirt. I couldn't really reach his, so I plucked his hat off his head and threw it towards my hatstand instead. It missed.

Fenris hissed in frustration, fumbling in the dark.

"Here, you do yours, I'll do mine," I murmured. I had a head start, even so, and I pulled my coat and shirt off while Fenris was still working on his. His hands stilled when I reached for his belt. I stopped, my hand resting on the leather and iron. I could feel the heat below it and I scraped my teeth over my lip. Fenris hovered there for a moment, tense like a bird about to take flight.

It was his turn to step forward. He stepped up to me, pressing himself into my palm. My jaw dropped, and he took advantage of it to slide his tongue past my teeth; he'd picked that up fast. I leant our weight against the desk and the end of his belt slapped lightly against my stomach as I pulled it undone. His hands dropped from his shirt – I could see the lyrium on his chest was faintly luminescent this close to me – and starting doing the same with my belt.

He gasped when I touched him. His trousers hung loose off his hips as I slid my hand into them. To my relief no lyrium burn greeted me, just slick, taut skin warm and pulsing in time with his heartbeat. I'd been worried that he wouldn't like it, that his body would reject my calloused, masculine touch but if anything it was the opposite. I squeezed gently and he hurried to return the favour and his _fingers_ were imbued with lyrium and my head lolled back when he touched me and I thought I saw stars and Maker's _breath-_

I hadn't been expecting that.

I shuddered and managed to keep a grip on myself, and him, and I could feel him smiling against my neck, enjoying the reaction he'd provoked. We shifted around a bit, putting our free arms around each other and our weight mostly on the table. Now he could leave kisses along my neck and jaw and collarbone and I could nibble on the tip of his right ear and boy did he jump the first time I did that. He immediately insisted on doing the same to me, and while I found it pleasant, and he seemed to find my ear interesting, it wasn't until he started moving his hand, uncertainly at first, that I lost my breath again.

It was too difficult to concentrate on kissing and making sure my hand slid down at just the point that his hips moved forward and we ended up just breathing against each other's mouths, occasionally brushing lips. I wished there was enough light to see more than the silvery blur of his hair and the lines of lyrium, but it was more than enough just to hear his harsh, irregular breathing, and feel him moving against me, his fingers digging into my back and his hipbone pressed almost painfully into my thigh. I wouldn't have dreamt of asking him to move.

He could stay there forever. I'd stay there forever. I'd drown in a lust and lyrium soaked haze for the rest of my life. And then forever turned into just one more stroke and I was going to, not quite – I gritted my teeth, and held my breath, I think Fenris had held his too, and I sensed him staring at me, even though it had to be too dark to see. And he kept going, and somehow brought the entire world to a halt.

The only thing I managed to keep moving steadily was my hand. I crushed him against me and muffled my gasps in his hair as I came over his hand, hard. I kept quiet somehow while he squirmed and thrust, his teeth bared and pressed against my shoulder.

"Stop," he begged and only then did I realise he was done, and that the top of my hand and wrist were warm and wet. I painfully unkinked my fingers and released him. I bent my head and nuzzled him until he lifted his and I could kiss him thoroughly again. I was never going to get tired of that.

"Ow," I said eventually, realising my left buttock as starting to go numb where the edge of the desk was digging in to me. Fenris retreated, finding his own feet and in the process reminding me that it was chilly out there when deprived of his warmth. I pawed one-handed through my coat and shirt that lay in a heap on the table until I found a handkerchief. Fenris was still wearing his coat, sort of, and had far less trouble finding his.

My shoes seemed a long way away, but I forced myself to make the journey and untie them, before kicking them off so I could take my pants off properly. Fenris stood there awkwardly for a few moments.

"Come on," I whispered. "It's freezing out here, let's get to bed."

"Mm." He followed my example willingly enough and I took his hand and guided him into the back corner where my cot was still in the rumpled mess I'd left it in this morning.

It really wasn't designed for two. We had to practically lie on top of each other or one of us would be in danger of falling out, and the springs protested at the extra weight. But we warmed it up fast, huddled under my blankets. I was tired and relaxed but I didn't want to go to sleep.

I had Fenris. In my arms. In my bed.

He neither objected nor went to sleep when I threaded an arm under his neck and stroked his back. Partly I wanted to reassure myself that he was real. And partly, mostly, because I couldn't help myself. I knew his body. I'd learned to gauge its weight and speed, and to respect its wiry power, and I'd watched the muscles I could now feel relaxed under his skin bunch and flex as he fought. And yet there so much I didn't know about the wolf in repose.

Fenris rested a hand on my chest, and I could feel him rubbing the hairs with his fingers. The elf was almost entirely smooth, and I wondered whether hair he did have matched the silver on his head. I lifted the blankets to have a look, but all I did was let in the cold. Fenris made an irritated sound.

Fine. I had all the time in the world to find out later.

I apologised by kissing his forehead. And then his nose. And then he tilted his head up and kissed me back. It wasn't a goodnight kiss, or if it was it was an ill-considered one, because by the time we came up for air his hands were on my hips and I was thwarted only by my relative height from investigating the curve of his arse and warm was becoming decidedly too hot.

I tried to roll on top of him and nearly tipped us both out of bed. The blankets got tangled and untucked while we shuffled ourselves back. I sprawled on top of him, nose to nose, feeling him grow hard again against my stomach. I didn't have a plan; Jethann's advice was lying dusty and disused somewhere in my brain. I hadn't been even slightly prepared for this. He probably would have approved, nevertheless. Better late than never.

I edged up slightly so I could press us together, feeling the lyrium on his stomach work its magic. Fenris grabbed my arse and I rocked my hips forward thoughtfully, without any real hurry. I must have been doing something right because Fenris gasped loudly.

"Shh!" I reminded him, putting a hand over his mouth.

I had to struggle to follow my own direction when he bit it, nipping painfully at my palm.

"Don't," he growled breathlessly as I jerked my hand away from his teeth.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry."

I felt him shake his head, "It's fine, keep going."

I didn't think he'd drawn blood and if he had it was my own fault anyway, so I did as he asked. It wasn't very elegant, or even efficient. My stomach and his were soon covered in sweat and whatever else one might expect. We struggled manfully with our inexperience for a while, edging closer at an agonising pace until Fenris finally gave in and reached down between us. He squeezed us together and I propped myself up on my hands to give him room to move.

Oh hell, just like that. Yeah.

Fenris is a fast learner. Everything was fast after that.

When I finally rolled onto my back – and nearly into the wall, which was unreasonably cold – I really was done. I'm not sure anything could have kept me awake at that moment. I put up with the wall and kept to the edge of the bed to give my guest as much room as possible. I wanted to embarrass myself by whispering lovestruck madness into his ear but I dropped off to sleep before I could manage more than a few muttered words of gratitude.

My feet were cold. I put up with it for a while, and then sat bolt upright, determined to spread the blankets out properly this time. It was starting to get light outside, and the room was illuminated in shades of grey. My clothes were all over the room.

The bed was empty.

Something was wrong, somewhere.

"Fenris?"

He was sitting, fully clothed, in his usual chair. He looked up from the spot on the floor he'd been staring at when I addressed him.

"What are you-" Maker, I was too asleep for this. "Are you all right? Was it terrible?"

"No, you were fine."

I raised my eyebrows at _that_. "So it was terrible then?"

He sighed, "No. I didn't mean it like that. It was more intense than I could have imagined. You were." He waved a hand vaguely, apparently lost for words. "Everything I'd hoped," he eventually said so quietly I almost couldn't hear him.

"So why are you all the way over there? Did I kick you out or something?"

"No. I, well, I started to remember things, just bits of my life, the way it was before." He shook his head, "It was too fast, too much."

"The memories were? Do you have it all back now?"

"No, they're gone. I remember having remembered. This was too fast."

"I'm sorry. I knew it might be, if I'm honest, but you seemed okay with it at the time. More than okay. You know I don't want to hurt you."

He got to his feet, "I can't do this."

"What? You're leaving? Just like that?"

"I'm sorry. I just wanted to be happy for a little while."

"What does that even mean? Fenris!" I wanted to shout, to holler or beat some sense into him but I was aware of the sleeping household behind me. I thew off the blankets and stumbled out of bed, but Fenris was already at the door.

"You utter coward," I hissed.

"I know." The heartbroken look he threw over his shoulder was probably exactly like mine. He closed the door behind him, and I heard him go down the stairs. My heart gave a leap when I heard him turn and come back up them, but when I opened the door – carefully because I didn't want any early-risers catching an eyeful – Fenris just handed me my hat and dashed off, his chin sunk to his chest.

I let my forehead hit the front door with a 'thunk'. It didn't help any so I did it a couple more times, wondering if there was anyone alive who'd managed to screw up something this wonderful this fast.


	41. Coastguard Repels Tevinter Vessel

I didn't get any more sleep. Morning was almost there anyway, and I flung myself back into bed and stared at the ceiling, watching the cracking plaster and cobwebs slowly come into focus as the sun rose. What in the world had happened? Had I just been dumped? Was it a spat?

Maybe I'd really hurt him.

He'd really hurt me. With a heart like lead I forced myself out of bed once I heard movement from the apartment behind. Like it or not, the day was here and I couldn't just hide away from it. By the time I'd shaved and washed the faint scent of Fenris from my fingers, I felt a bit better. Not good, just not sick.

I didn't feel like breakfast, but I made myself eat something. Gamlen was reading the paper and complaining about politics in a manner I found even more irritating than usual.

"Is something wrong, Sweetheart?" Ma asked after Gamlen had left 'to buy tobacco' which meant he'd be gone playing cards until late.

I sighed ruefully, "I'm just making a fool of myself, that's all."

"I'm glad," she said.

"What? Ma, you do not want a fool for a son."

She smiled at me, and I saw the wrinkles at the corner of her eyes deepen as she did so, "When Malcom died, I know you worked so hard to take his place. I used to worry that you'd never get a youth. That you'd grown up too fast."

"I didn't know that," I said, pushing half a slice of toast around my plate.

"I'm glad we came to Kirkwall, I really am. You've had opportunities here that you'd never have had in Lothering. Friends. You were so stubborn when you were young; you used to get into big arguments with your father about telling people about the magic in our family. You wanted to believe the friends you made would never tell anyone."

"Yes, I remember. I was just a child," I said.

"When I see the friends you've made now, and I know you're going to be all right."

"What are you saying, Ma? You're not planning on going back to Fereldan, are you?"

"No, nothing like that. I was just thinking maybe I should start going out again. I don't think I look too bad." She laughed, "I could even remarry. You could give me away."

"Ma! What?" I let my head fall forward until it clunked against the table, and groaned. "Fine, good luck with it."

"Huh! You could be a little more supportive, Trip." She swatted the back of my head.

"I am, I am," I said, dragging myself to my feet. Sometimes I wondered if Ma's awful timing was deliberate. "I'll give you away, okay?"

"Well, it's not like I've got anyone to marry yet."

"I'm going to work," I said. I wondered if Fenris was going to show up.

Fenris didn't show up, but Emeric did. He'd lost the uniform and was wearing civilian clothes. He smiled politely at me, handed Ma a bunch of daisies and they went out to the pictures.

Unbelievable. Another templar in the family.

"Varric, I need your advice."

"After all you've done for me; a bit of advice is the least I can do." Varric looked like he hadn't got any sleep, but his smile was broad. "Rivani and I sorted everything out last night. And I told Bartrand that I was never going to finance another expedition."

"How is the old goat anyway?"

"Now now, Trip. He's my brother, I decide on the insults. He's as good humoured as always. He seems to think I owe him a dozen boxes of lyrium. Fat chance. Anyway, enough about me, what's your problem?"

I dragged a chair over from the reading corner and sat in it, "Okay, so, there's a girl."

"Ah ha."

"And things go well, and then afterwards she storms out saying it was all too much and too fast."

"Well, then it probably was. I'm not sure she could have put it any more clearly. I didn't think you were so clumsy, Trip."

"I'm normally not. I just… this is different. But I messed it up, obviously, and what do I do now?"

"Apologise, you sap! Bring her some flowers."

"I don't think she'd like flowers."

"Chocolates. Books. Diamonds. Whatever it is she likes."

What did Fenris like? Wine, which was illegal, and beating up on mages. Maybe I should offer him my jaw.

"You're right, Varric, I need to apologise. Thanks." I couldn't talk to Varric in any more detail about this. I couldn't talk to anyone about this. Everything would work out fine anyway, I told myself. I wasn't convinced.

"Wasn't anything you couldn't have figured out on your own," he pointed out as I left.

I practically ran into Fenris as I left Varric's shop. We stared at each other for a few moments and I was convinced Fenris was going to run away again. He looked like he really wanted to.

"The apartment's empty," I said. "Do you want to come up? To talk, I mean," I added hastily. "Just talk."

"I think we should," he said quietly.

He followed me upstairs silently and when I sat behind my desk he remained standing.

"I want to apologise," I said. "About last night. I did go-"

"I don't want to talk about it," Fenris said quickly.

"You just said we should talk," I pointed out, thrown off-balance already.

"Yes. No. Look, Trip, yesterday was so many different things. I need to sort it out. Not just you- us, but everything else."

"Timing could have been better," I admitted.

"I don't want to leave. I still want to work for you."

"I don't want you to leave either! I'd rather you'd never left. You'll never, ever have to leave, Fenris."

He bowed his head, "Please don't look at me like that. I'm sorry. I don't deserve another chance. Can we please just go back to the way it was?"

"Well, not really, Fenris. I mean, yeah, take some time and think it over. But I'm not just going to let you go; if there's something I can do, something I can say, you just have to ask. I didn't want to mess this up."

"You didn't. I'm messed up. I can't, I need to fix myself first, do you understand?"

"And you don't need to do it alone, do you understand?"

"Yes." He made no move to elaborate on anything. I got the impression he was agreeing just to see the end of the conversation.

I sighed, "Fine." I supposed. It was better than 'I never want to see you again', but it wasn't exactly satisfactory. Still, if Fenris wanted some space, it was only fair to give it to him, after taking away so much of it the night before.

"So, do we have any work today?" Fenris asked.

"Not so far, and frankly I'm not gonna cry about it. I'm tired." I remembered why I was so tired and Fenris presumably did too because he went a slightly darker colour and stared at the floor. "Well, I'm gonna get a paper; hold the fort 'till I get back."

"Yes, all right."

* * *

><p>I dozed at my desk for most of the day, and Fenris went back to his reading. He got what he wanted; except for a stubborn refusal to meet my eyes when I stared at him, everything was back to normal. If normal was awful.<p>

Eventually Emeric and Ma came back from the pictures, all smiles. Ma invited Emeric and Fenris to dinner, and left to change out of her good dress and start cooking.

"How's business, fellas?" Emeric asked.

"It comes and goes."

"I've seen your brother around the training yard," Emeric said, lighting a cigar. "I think he's bored."

"Hasn't graduated to beating mages with sticks yet?" I asked.

Emeric gave me a sad look, "It's not all like what you read in the papers. You should be proud of the work Carver will be doing."

"I'm happy for him; don't ask me for more than that."

"I ain't gonna argue. Did you hear the latest about the bodies in the bag case?"

"Ninette's murder?" I asked.

"Yeah. Seems after six months of nothing much the detectives have unofficially decided that the killer's moved on. Of course, the only reason they have to think this is that no one's found another body."

"Absence of evidence is not evidence of absence," I pointed out. "Besides, given what we found in the foundry, this isn't some madman. We're looking at a mage. All he needs to do is dispose of the evidence better."

"The police know all of this. Interdepartmental rivalry has probably killed more people than the 'flu. If it's a mage they have to work with us and they weren't going to give up a nice high-profile case like that unless they had to."

"But they're giving up on it now," I objected.

Emeric nodded and approximated a smile, "I was hoping you'd be angry. I don't like seeing this whole thing, these women, just forgotten. The only time anyone even got close to the killer was when you were involved."

"You're hiring me to take on a murder case?"

"Leaving it to the authorities is not a strategy that seems to be working. I tried to take the case myself, but the Knight-Captain says until it's officially ours we keep our hands off; he spends enough time putting out fires as it is. We don't need another spat with the police right now."

"The trail's going to be pretty cold by now." I glanced at Fenris, "What do you think?"

"I think this monster should be put down, and if anyone can find him it's you."

Flattery caught me by surprise, and I grinned. "A ringing endorsement." My smile faded, "All right, I make no promises, but let's see what we have."

"Someone like this has to have a history," Emeric said. "Sad to say, none of the other circles have Kirkwall's record keeping or retainment rate. I made a list of escaped mages but I'm not sure where that gets us."

"What makes you think this fella is a Circle mage anyway?"

"You need proper training to use magic well. Most apostates aren't that powerful; present company excepted because you had your father's training."

I looked at him sharply.

"Oh yes. I remember Malcolm Hawke. He was hard to forget," Emeric chuckled. "To be honest, I avoided him. I was a recent recruit at the time and he looked like far too much trouble for me. The gallows was the worse for his absence though. Sometimes I think what we really lack is a sense of humour."

"Huh. That's interesting. We should have a drink some time; I'd like to hear about my father's exploits," I said. We were silent for a moment. "I suppose the killer could be from Tevinter."

"Unlikely," Fenris said. "Nothing he's doing would be illegal in Tevinter. They'd probably applaud his ruthless research methods."

"There'd be no reason for him to come here. Well, I'm rather glad to cross that off the list." I frowned, "An apostate, huh? Tell you what, I'll do some legwork and get back to you."

"Fenris, can you give me a hand?" Ma asked, poking her head in. She smiled at Emeric, "Go on, tell him about his father. We've got a bit to do in here."

I raised an eyebrow, wondering what Ma was up to, but I didn't object. Fenris obediently followed her into the kitchen and I could hear them talking.

Emeric puffed on his cigar for a while, "Well," he began, "you sure look a hell of a lot like him."

Emeric didn't know as much as Ma probably hoped that he did, and Ma was still talking to Fenris when he ran out of things to say. I wondered what on earth she was telling him, and poked my head through the door.

Fenris looked sick. Ma was talking kindly to him while he frowned at the floor. He must have seen something though, because he raised his head and caught my eye with a rather horrified look.

Ma patted him on the arm. "It takes great courage to love an apostate," she said warmly, concluding whatever lecture she'd just given him. He managed a rather wan smile and I pulled my head back quick.

Oh Ma, I know you mean well, but that was not helpful.

Emeric gave me his extension and we adjourned for dinner. Fenris hardly said a word, and vanished into the night as soon as it was polite to. I wanted to tell Ma off, but if I did I'd have to tell her everything and I'd rather not. Part of me was glad she approved but right now there wasn't much to approve of.

I was almost grateful Emeric had showed up. As much as this case horrified me, at least it might take my mind off Fenris.

If this was an apostate we were after, there was one obvious source of information. I told Fenris not to come in early, as I doubted he'd particularly want to visit Anders.

* * *

><p>The clinic was emptier than usual, although not quieter. Every patient had a vigorous cough, and I surreptitiously held my breath as I made my way through to the surgery. I let Anders know I was there and waited for him in his back room, idly scratching Purrsival behind the ears.<p>

"Trip, I wasn't expecting a visit." Anders smiled over his shoulder at me as he washed his hands in the sink. "You're not sick are you?"

I held up my hand before he attempted to take my temperature or something.

"No, I'm well. Physically. You look tired." He always looked tired. "I'm here on business, actually. You'd know better than anyone about apostates in this city."

"What do you want to know?" he asked warily.

"Oh, come on, Anders. It's me. I'm not taking notes for Meredith."

"I'm sorry; it's just that things are getting worse. We get more people asking for help than we can help and so we stretch ourselves and take risks. This can't go on, Trip. For every mage we save, there are dozens still locked away. It's not a matter of rescuing the few; the system has to change for the many."

"Orsino's doing his best," I pointed out.

"He's doing his best to prevent real change. He's trying to hold together a system that obviously isn't working. He's part of the problem, not a solution."

I didn't come here for a discussion. "You know more about it than me; I want to ask you something else."

"I apologise. Every time you come here you seem to get a lecture or…uh." He subsided into an awkward silence.

"I know how you felt, Anders. You've got guts. You're an inspiration to us all."

"Ha!" He shrugged, "You don't look very happy, I have to say."

"Things didn't work out the way I'd hoped," I confessed.

"You were rejected? Really?"

"He's got good reasons," I said quietly. We looked at each other for a while and then the facades cracked and we laughed, even though I wasn't sure what we were laughing at. Anders looked like he hadn't laughed in a good while. "Ridiculous," I said.

"Positively," Anders said, sitting on the bed. "What can I help you with anyway?"

"I'm looking for a specific apostate. Not escaped from the gallows. He's been here at least six months, probably more. Wealthy enough to afford to buy a great many things from the Black Emporium."

"Black Emporium? That sounds familiar. Didn't you go there with that templar?"

"Yes. It looks like the police have dropped the ball so we're picking it up again."

"Be careful, Trip. People ended up in hospital last time."

"I know."

"Let me think. I've heard rumours of an apostate in Hightown. He's not from Kirkwall, that's for sure. Orlesian maybe. The collective contacted him, and he seemed receptive, but something about him tipped them off that he wasn't to be trusted and they dropped him."

"It's not a great deal to go on, is it?"

"I'll get you some more information, if you like. I'll see if I can find out why they avoided him."

"Thanks, Anders. I'll be home this evening. What's this fella's name?

"Gascard DuPuis."


	42. Dogfight: Dragon Driven From Mine

"Gascard DuPuis. That name is oddly familiar," Emeric said. He, Varric and Fenris were sitting in my office, waiting for Anders to return with his report.

"Is he an escaped mage?" Fenris asked.

"I don't think so. But I know I've heard of him before. I'll try and remember."

"I can't believe the police have just given up," Varric said, "Does Aveline know about this?"

"They'd never let her take a case like this one," I said. "More fool them."

Anders arrived and glared at me when he saw Emeric was also present. Emeric, for his part, carefully didn't look in Anders' direction, instead stirring his coffee.

Despite the presence of a Templar, Anders gave his report. "DuPuis disguised himself poorly as an ally," Anders said. "It was clear he was more interested in finding other mages than helping those in the circle; he wanted access to collective's network. He was prepared to pay for it, in either gold or magic, but trust cannot be bought."

"So what happened?" I asked.

"They thanked him politely, and never contacted him again."

"Curious. It doesn't really sound like our man, but that doesn't mean it's not him."

"Did they ever find out who owned that foundry?" Varric asked. "Always follow the money."

"The Bank of Kirkwall owns it," Emeric said. "It was foreclosed years ago, I gather."

"The police would have followed that trail at least. I don't see why we shouldn't visit this DuPuis," I said. "Cross him off the list if nothing else."

"Maybe the killer has moved on," Fenris said.

Emric sighed, "If we can't turn anything up, then I will accept that perhaps there is nothing to turn up. Not every murder can be solved, and not every victim gets justice."

* * *

><p>DuPuis lived in a large, elegant house not more than three blocks from Fenris's mansion. We'd persuaded Emeric to stay out of sight, as his uniform had the unfortunate effect of making mages inclined to jump out of windows and never be seen again. He remained in an alleyway close by and made us promise to summon him if we needed help.<p>

I didn't think we'd need help. Between the six of us, including Horse and Bianca, I didn't think there was anything in this city that would be a match for us short of a dragon.

DuPuis's windows were dark, and his door was locked. Politely knocking and then loudly shouting at his front door didn't change either of those things.

"If he's got a guilty conscience, he's not going to answer his door," Anders said.

"Can you get it open?" I asked Varric. He said he'd certainly try.

It took him quite a while. We loitered in the street, keeping watch and hissing a warning every time a cop strolled past on his beat. Dumas hadn't been lying about providing more police for Hightown, but given the quiet nature of the night, I felt they were resources that could have been deployed better elsewhere.

Every time I glanced at Fenris he was staring at something else with a faint frown on his face. It was like being a ghost.

Varric got the door open and we hurried inside. Our own stealthy footfalls and the ticking of a clock in the hallway were the only sounds. We spread out, and quickly ascertained that Mister DuPuis appeared to live alone; there were no signs of servants, although the dust-free nature of the expensive furniture suggested he had help in occasionally at least.

We gathered at the bottom of the stairs. I was starting to wonder if he was even home. I was starting to wonder if this was even a good idea. We'd broken into the man's house on nothing more than a vague rumour, and he appeared to have the kind of money that could make life difficult for us if he wanted to.

Horse growled.

I'd told him to be quiet, and thus he was growling quietly, the hair along his spine standing on end.

Suddenly, I felt a whole lot better about the thing. Mages I can handle; lawyers I can not.

We crept up the stairs, and as we reached the landing I realised I could hear muttering or chanting coming from one of the rooms. We moved closer and as I put my ear to the door I could make out the words.

"…to the left...blood…no, wrong. Faster. Bloodied stone. Bloodied brick. Deeper…"

Now my hair was standing on end.

I summoned my magic and clenched my fist, and then unclenched it again and tried the door handle. It was unlocked. Ever so slowly I eased it open, listening for any change in the muttering from the room beyond.

The room was pretty clearly some sort of mage's study. Books were piled everywhere, and various knick-knacks that wouldn't have looked out of place in the Black Emporium were scattered about. A well dressed man with long blonde hair done in an elaborate Orlesian style was kneeling in the centre of a chalk circle, a reddish haze surrounding him.

I could smell, almost taste, the coppery scent of fresh blood. He didn't appear to notice us.

"What's he doing?" I whispered to Anders.

Anders scowled, "Blood magic." Which was true enough but not helpful.

"Is it safe to distract him or will a demon or something burst forth if we try anything?"

"That's probably going to happen anyway," Fenris hissed and I started when he leaned in close to do so. He looked equally surprised for a moment.

I didn't want to kill DuPuis, or accidentally turn him into an abomination, so I cleared my throat politely.

"Mister DuPuis?"

That got a reaction. The muttering stopped and a staff that had been leaning unnoticed against the wall behind us flew to the blood mage's hand, the reddish haze coalescing into a gleaming wall.

"Who are you?" he snarled. His accent was definitely Orlesian. "Get out at once!"

Horse was braced and growling, Varric was squinting down Bianca, and Fenris and Anders were glowing.

"Don't you think a fight would be rather one-sided?" I asked. "We are offering to talk you know."

He thought better of it. He lowered his staff and the awful sticky feeling of blood magic lessened as a light rain of blood pattered onto the floor at his feet. I couldn't see any obvious wounds on him, but I suppose a blood mage learns to hide it.

"Is that a real staff?" I asked him. "It must be an antique."

"It is," he said cradling it a bit closer with a suspicious look. "Who are you?"

"No one you'd know," I told him. "We want to ask you some questions. About some missing women."

"And some body parts," Varric growled. He still hadn't shifted Bianca an inch.

"What? That? You think I was the one who…" he trailed off.

"Well, you seem to know what we're talking about," I said.

"Yes, I suppose I do. Better than most," he added bitterly. "If I tell you everything I know, will you let me keep my freedom?"

I hadn't been planning on turning him over to the Templars anyway, but he didn't need to know that. "Certainly," I said. "This killer is more dangerous than a mere apostate."

"That is true," DePuis said. "I'll start from the beginning." He went over to a chair and dropped into it. "The man you're looking for is called Quentin. He's an apostate; I think he was once a Circle mage. At least, was an excellent teacher. That's how he came to our household; magic runs in our family, but we are true nobles of Orlais, and we could not bear the indignity of having one of our family locked up in the Circle like a common hedge wizard. Quentin was employed by my family to tutor me in magic so I might better conceal my gifts."

"Including blood magic?" Fenris asked harshly.

"I…yes. I see no reason to deny it. Quentin had great ideas. He was motivated by deepest desire to help his fellow man. Or so I thought. But he killed my sister. By the time we found what was left of her," he choked, "he was long gone."

He looked up at us, "I vowed then I would find him and avenge her death using the very same magic he'd taught me. I tracked him here to Kirkwall when I read about the killings in the newspaper. I knew it was him. I've tried every contact I know, every method I can think of, but this city is so full of blood and magic. I drain myself every night trying to pick up Quentin's thread."

"You'd know his magic if you sensed it?" I asked.

"Most definitely."

We exchanged glances. None of us were particularly taken with Mister DuPuis, but he seemed quite sincere.

"At least we've got a name now," Anders said.

"Why didn't you go to the police?" I asked DuPuis.

"The police? The police, even if they were capable of capturing Quentin, would not give him the punishment he deserves. It is no less than death. Tranquillity is too good for him."

"You want blood," Varric said dryly. "There's a surprise."

"Can you blame me?"

"Everyone calm down," I said. "It's all theoretical if we can't find this Quentin. Do you have any leads at all?" I asked DuPuis.

"Quentin always seemed very well connected with the Circle, despite living outside it. He was able to acquire many books from their libraries. Here, I still have one." He stood up and fetched a book from his overloaded shelf. _Advanced Thaumagical Effects on Haemoglobin_.

I cracked the book open and sure enough there was a stamp on the title page that read 'Gallows Circle Library: Restricted Section'.

"I contacted the Circle, I even wrote to Orsino himself, but received no reply. Obviously I daren't go there myself, as an apostate mage."

"Obviously," I said. "This is helpful. We might have a bit more luck at the Gallows than you did. May we keep this book?"

"If it helps you find him, be my guest. And please, if you do find him, be careful. He's a very dangerous mage."

"The city is full of them. Goodnight, Mister DuPuis."

With varying levels of reluctance, we left. As soon as we were back outside I forestalled any arguments that I could see were coming.

"Listen! I don't necessarily believe his story either, but he's given is the closest thing anyone has got to a solid lead. A little politeness now might save us a lot of trouble later."

"What if he flees?" Fenris asked.

"Then he becomes someone else's problem, doesn't he?"

Fenris raised an eyebrow.

"All right, someone should keep an eye on him. Any volunteers?" There wasn't a big rush. "I see. Horse?"

Horse pricked his ears up and wagged his stumpy tail.

"Watch that house!"

Horse barked enthusiastically.

"You're seriously going to leave that to a dog?" Anders asked. "No, sorry, 'Mabari'. Forget I said anything."

I patted Horse on the head, "Good boy."

Emeric emerged from his alleyway and we brought him up to speed on DuPuis's story. He didn't look very happy to hear it.

"That's where I remember his name from," he said. "He wrote several letters to Orsino."

"You read the Senior Enchanter's mail?" I asked.

"No! Well, not the inside. I don't think Orsino ever replied."

"DuPuis said they were ignored. Okay, what do you make of this book then?" I handed it over and we all clustered around the nearest street lamp while Emeric opened it.

"This is from our restricted collection," he said instantly. "An ordinary circle mage or student wouldn't be allowed to have access to it. They need a permission slip from one of the lecturers."

"What happens to the permission slips?" I asked.

"Well they're kept of course. Until the book is returned. That sometimes takes years though. Often a mage will die and only then do the books get put back on the shelves. If the mage is senior enough to request the book for themselves they still write a slip. They're dangerous things, some of these books."

"Excellent, then we can find out who sent Quentin, or DuPuis, if he's lying about the whole thing, this book."

"If they let you walk in to the Gallows, Trip," Anders said, "they're not going to let you walk out again. Especially with that book. Especially if you start accusing someone of stealing books."

"What about you, Emeric?" I asked.

"I'd have to take it to my superior, and they'd investigate it. But there's nothing to connect this book to anyone but DuPuis. I could tell them about Quentin but the Knight-Captain's already warned me about taking an interest in the case."

"We can't let the search for the killer get side-tracked by a search for a thief," I said. "Or by petty inter-departmental politics. We need someone above that." I thought for a few moments, "Emeric, can you get me an appointment with Orsino?"

"I…well…"

"Tell him it's about a stolen book and one of his subordinates. Wouldn't he rather deal with this himself than get the Templars involved?"

"Huh, I like the way you think, Trip," Varric said approvingly. "Very devious."

"He would," Emeric nodded. "The last thing he wants is to give Meredith more ammunition against the mages." He handed the book back to me. "I'll see what I can do. Stay by the phone tomorrow."


	43. Dragon Destined for Museum Display

Emeric called me about nine and told me that Orsino was expecting me at eleven. I took the book with me and told Ma not to keep Emeric on the phone too long as he had work to do. She shushed me as I walked out the door.

A different Templar was guarding the entrance this time, and when I gave him my name they unlocked the doors and let me inside the Gallows. I didn't want to go. The Gallows was built on a peak of rock that overlooked both the harbour and the rest of Kirkwall, but neither mages nor Templars got to enjoy the view; the walls were too high. The Gallows had been built so long ago and very little had changed. It was like living in a museum; even the modern electric lights were placed above old iron torch sconces, and the atmosphere was decidedly medieval. The mages in their long monkish robes didn't help as they swished down stone corridors and murmured quietly to each other.

My father had escaped from this place. I wish I knew how.

A group of Templars were training in the courtyard, and I turned my head to watch as I was escorted past, looking for Carver. If he was there, I didn't recognise him from this distance.

A Templar accompanied me every step of the way to Orsino's office, which was situated at the top of far too many flights of stairs, somewhere at the back of the Gallows. I tried to remember the path back to the entrance.

It wasn't all bad, I suppose. I heard children chanting lessons somewhere, and two young mages ran past us, bouncing a rubber ball off the walls as they went, but these moments of life and sound were few and far between. I heard more echoes than voices, and saw more shadows than people.

Things were a bit brighter up near Orsino's office. There was carpet on the floors and the windows let in a little light.

I was surprised to note that Orsino's study was directly across from Meredith's office. Thankfully, the door was shut. I don't know how much the papers wrote about them was true, but I had no doubt there was no love lost between them. And they shared a corridor every working day.

"You fellas don't make them share a room as well, do you?" I asked the Templar.

"No! Don't joke like that." He frowned, and then tried not to laugh. He knocked quietly on Orsino's door and announced me. "Someone will escort you out again when your business is concluded," he said.

"Thanks for that. I'd hate to get lost here."

Orsino's cage, I had to admit, was pretty nicely gilded. There was a big desk – bigger than the one in Mayor Dumar's office – and plenty of carpet around it. There was a fire place, and the walls were lined with bookshelves. Orsino himself courteously rose from his chair to shake my hand and invite me to sit down.

I'd seen his mug in the paper before, of course, but in person he was much more affable. He was a rather grey and dignified bird, fine boned and with eyes that reminded me of Fenris. He looked tired; not lacking in sleep, but suffering from a deeper exhaustion.

"Emeric gave me your card, Mister Hawke," he began once we were seated. "And I believe this isn't the first time you've paid us a visit."

"You keep a close eye on things," I said.

"I can't afford not to," he said dryly. "Coffee?"

"Thank you. Black, one sugar. How much did Emeric tell you?" I asked.

"He said you have a book, stolen from our reserved collection that you acquired under worrying circumstances."

"The study of an apostate blood mage, to be precise. And no, I won't tell you who or where he is. Lives are at stake right now, and I'd rather remain on friendly terms with him at the moment, no matter how distasteful I find his company."

"You know the Templars could make you change your mind," he said quietly as he handed me a cup.

"I'm sure they could beat it out of me. And then the mage who removed the book from the library would be entirely in their hands."

"Emeric made precisely that point, which is interesting given he's a Templar himself. May I see the book?"

"Certainly, First Enchanter." I had the book in a satchel and I took it out and handed it to him. When he saw the cover, the colour fled from his cheeks and his lips tightened. He glanced at me, caught my gaze and was obviously even less happy about what he found in it. Still, he opened the book and glanced at the stamp on the title page.

"Thank you for returning this, I shudder to think what might have become of it if it had fallen into the wrong hands."

"I think we both know it's been in the wrong hands already," I said. "You recognise this book. I wonder whose name is on its slip in the library."

He tried to stare me down, and failed. He closed the book gently. "For a man confronted with blood magic and mages, you appear remarkably unafraid, Hawke."

"A man in my line of work does not get paid for being a coward, even if it's in his best interests to be one."

"And who exactly is paying you?"

I shook my head, "Only a judge can make me tell anyone that. Look, I have no interest in you or even the other mage."

"Ah, wait. DuPuis. That was the name. Those letters make so much more sense now. I thought them merely a ridiculous attempt to extort money from me. You say he is a blood mage?"

"I need to know if his story is true. About Quentin. Do you know him? Did you lend him this book? And others?"

"The book is safe. I have no reason to speak with you any further."

"Dammit Orsino!" I snarled and he recoiled from my sudden lack of civility, "Why are you protecting him? I had you pegged as a decent man and now I see you protecting a monster."

"You are not the first, nor likely the last, person I will have accusing me of protecting monsters this week."

"I don't hate mages."

"What is your idea of a monster then? Quentin is a monster whereas DuPuis is not?" he asked.

"The jury is still out on DuPuis," I said. "Quentin, on the other hand, may very well have dismembered several innocent women, perhaps more. And I doubt he plans to stop."

"Emeric. I should have known it was about the Lowtown Killer case. He's well-known to have a bee in his bonnet about it. What proof do you have that Quentin's involved?"

"None, yet. Sir, if he is not the man I seek I will not harm him. I have no interest in doing the Templars' dirty work. Your words have convinced me he exists, so who is he?"

Orsino looked at me for some moments, considering. "I have your word then?"

"Yes."

"Quentin was a colleague; it's been so long since we spoke I hesitate to say friend. He was brilliant. And we both knew he was destined to accomplish great things."

"With blood magic?"

"Yes. I admit it. But he didn't see it the way everyone else did, as a source of arcane power. He recognised it as a potentially life-giving force. He could almost raise the dead he was so talented. But he was considered a troublemaker and I believed there were plans to make him tranquil. I couldn't bear to see such a brilliant mind, and good friend, suffer that fate. So I helped him escape, sent him books when I could. I haven't heard from him in nearly a year, however."

"What about the murdering bit?" I asked.

"No." He shook his head firmly, "That doesn't sound like him at all. He wanted to help people, not hurt them. I think you will find DuPuis has led you astray."

"Someone is certainly mistaken about something," I said. "The real question is do you know where he could be hiding?"

"No. But we did have a system for getting in contact with each other. I will find out for you, Hawke."

"And you won't warn him that I'm on his trail?"

"No. I wish to believe he is innocent, but the involvement of this DuPuis worries me. I will defer to your judgement, Hawke. Don't make me regret it. If Quentin is behind these horrible acts then he deserves justice no less than anyone else. Will that satisfy you?"

"Yes, First Enchanter. How long do you think it will take?"

"I don't know. I can't even guarantee it will work, but I would hope about a week. I will contact you either way."

We shook hands. When I reached for the book he stopped me, "I understand that you regard this as evidence, but it is also a dangerous source of knowledge. I can't let you take it again. I trust you; you'll have to trust me."

There wasn't a lot I could do about it. I had plenty of witnesses if it came to court. I wasn't sure if my meeting had been productive or not, but DuPuis's story had been at least partially verified. I'd have another crack at him, try and get some more details from him about Quentin.

* * *

><p>When I returned to Lowtown, I found the man himself, looking rather bedraggled, huddling in my doorway while Horse stood guard over him. The mabari barked joyfully when I arrived, looking very pleased with himself.<p>

"What's going on?" I asked DuPuis.

"That animal accosted me as I was attempting to board at taxi, grabbed my clothing and dragged me back here. I assume this is your house?" He regarded it with some distaste.

"Yeah, it is. Good boy, Horse."

"Good boy? Did you set him on me?"

"Not exactly. What were you up to?"

"Why should I tell you?"

Horse growled low in his throat, baring his teeth, and then barked. DuPuis flinched.

"All right! Just get him away from me."

"Easy, boy. Let the man speak." At my words Horse subsided and wagged his tail.

DuPuis sighed, "I suppose the creature can smell blood. I've found Quentin." That made me sit up and take notice.

"Are you sure?"

"I know the feel of his magic and the scent of his blood anywhere. I have never been more certain of anything. I meant to trace him, but your dog interrupted me."

"Maybe that's for the best. What does it mean that you suddenly sensed him? Did you just get lucky or…"

"He may have found another victim."

"Then we need to move fast. Like it or not, you're going to help us."

"And if I refuse?"

"Why would you refuse? Are you that confident that you could defeat Quentin? Who else is going to help you? Besides, if you do refuse, I'll set my dog on you."

"Ugh, fine."

I bade him go upstairs and knocked on Varric's door. I made suitably dramatic gestures once I had his attention and he nodded. I followed DuPuis upstairs and let him into my office.

"Leandra, is that you?"

"Sorry Gamlen, it's just me."

"I, oh." Gamlen walked in looking disappointed. "Do you know where she is then?"

"No. Should I?"

"Well, she said she'd make meatloaf for lunch. The mince is still in the cold box. She hasn't been back all morning and now it's nearly two thirty."

"Isn't it enough that she makes you dinner? Can't you make it yourself?" I asked, pushing past him to get to the phone. "It's not difficult."

"I'm busy."

"Maybe she's busy, did you think of that?"

"Going on dates with that Templar I suppose," Gamlen scowled.

I shushed him as I started making calls. "Go and make Mister DuPuis some tea or something. Make yourself useful." I idly poked at the bunch of lilies Ma had left on the hall table. They'd wilt if someone didn't put them in water.

Fenris and Varric walked in as the Hanged Man put Isabela on the line. Good. I still hadn't worked out a fast way of contacting Fenris, but in this case he'd kept himself handy. When I was done making calls, I filled them in on what was happening. Neither of them were too happy about relying on DuPuis's blood magic, but the possibility of a new victim was a more pressing concern.

As the others trickled in, I fried the mince and some onions and served it on toast. It wasn't half as good as Ma's meatloaf but it was filling and fast.

Emeric arrived last, as he'd had further to come and had to find someone to swap his shift with.

"What have you done with Leandra?" Gamlen asked him, almost before he'd closed the door.

"What do you mean?" he asked.

"They're your flowers, aren't they?" I asked, nodding to the bunch in the hall.

Emeric just looked puzzled. "No, I've been working all day."

DuPuis cleared his throat, "I don't wish to alarm anyone," he said, "but when my sister was taken, we found a bunch of lilies in her room."

I put down my piece of toast. I wasn't hungry anymore. DuPuis recoiled to find himself the centre of attention, as dead silence descended on the room.

"You'd better start working your magic," Varric growled at him, "right now."


	44. Lowtown Horror Ends in Blood

We watched in complete silence as DuPuis knelt on the floor of my office and cloaked himself in a mist of blood. Some of the faces in the audience were disapproving, but no one wanted to be the one to say the price was too high, not when it could be Ma's life hanging in the balance. I didn't want to think about it. Quentin had to be stopped and even if Ma were to walk in the door at that moment and ask us what we were doing, that fact wouldn't change.

She didn't walk in the door.

"He's close," DuPuis said. "Lowtown close." He stood up, cupping an ounce or so of blood in his right hand. "I can lead you."

"We'll go in Merrill's car," I decided. "You come with us, Anders. We might need your expertise."

"The rest of us will follow in Emeric's motor," Aveline, decided.

"I'm going with Trip," Fenris said, speaking for the first time since he'd thanked me for his share of lunch. "I'll stand on the running-board."

No one argued.

"I'll, err… look after the house then," Gamlen said as we gathered hats and coats and checked weapons. Gamlen looked genuinely worried, and stood in the doorway watching us pile into the two motors. He shouted 'good luck' as we pulled away.

DuPuis sat up the front next to Merrill, and gave directions. They weren't always helpful; he was tracking as the crow flies, and Merrill sent us tearing down side streets and occasionally into dead end alleyways and we had to back up as she tried to follow instructions.

We were halfway across Lowtown when I realised where we were going.

"The Foundry District," I said. "Where we found the bodies the first time."

"You think he returned to the scene of the crime?" Fenris asked, holding his hat on with one hand and hanging on to the car with the other.

"I'm not sure he ever left. Merrill, take us there, and DuPuis can tell us if I'm right."

"You got it," Merrill swung the car around and I grabbed Fenris's coat to make sure he didn't get thrown off. When we arrived at the Foundry district, DuPuis hadn't told us we'd gone off-course.

"_Here_?" Aveline said when we halted in front of the old factory and disembarked. "Just great."

"Come on." This was the last place I wanted to revisit, but I had no choice.

"He's around here somewhere," DuPuis said, finally shaking the drops of blood off his fingers.

"Good enough." I put my foot to the front door, but since last time someone had replaced the lock and all I did was hurt my toes. "Maker's Breath! Get this damn thing open!"

"Hang on, Hero." Varric came to my rescue. "It'll only take a minute." A minute was a minute too long for me, so I tapped my feet and scowled while we waited in silence for the dwarf to do this thing.

He got the door open and we all cautiously edged inside, those with guns reaching for them. Merrill drew her parasol cane. The shop floor had been gone over; there was a lot less rubbish, although dust and cobwebs now covered everything again. We spread out, on-edge for another attack like we'd experienced before.

Nothing stirred in the broken machinery but a couple of rats.

Aveline slowly lowered her gun. "Nothing."

I looked at DuPuis and he shrugged. "I can still feel him," he waved his hands, "somewhere close."

"Horse! Find Ma." Horse circled the room with his nose to the floor and we then started opening doors for him, letting him into back rooms and storage areas.

We hit pay dirt eventually. In the corner of what had once been a supply room, Horse found a trapdoor under some rubbish and pawed at it, whining.

"How did they miss this?" Aveline asked as we gathered around it.

"He might have hidden it with magic," Anders said.

"They should have brought a Templar along," Emeric said. "We would have found it, even so."

"It doesn't matter now, help me get it open." Fenris and I pulled up the heavy wooden trapdoor. From the darkness below I could smell smoke and something sweeter and more horrible behind it.

"I wonder how many more women we're going to find down here," Emeric commented soberly.

We wasted no time finding out. I climbed down the metal rungs set into the stone wall beneath the trapdoor. There was just enough light coming from a nearby room to see where I was putting my feet.

"What is this place?" I wondered softly.

"Smuggler's den," Isabela said. "Legitimate goods in the foundry up top, and slaves or liquor down here. It's probably as old as the foundry itself, or older."

Kirkwall had a long and chequered past, and you could find evidence of it everywhere.

There were too many of us to be completely silent, but we did our best. We followed the glow and found ourselves in a large, book-strewn room, with a fireplace and a couple of armchairs arranged around it. The smell was stronger here.

"I bet a lot of these books belong to the Gallows library," Emeric said.

The back of my neck prickled.

"Look out!"

This time, we were ready. The shades and demons melted out of the shadows, and the fireplace roared with burning hate. I heard Merrill give a cry of battle in her own language, and the air was thick with bullets and magic. Even DuPuis joined the fight, frowning and murmuring about missing his staff. Horse must have dragged him off without it.

My ears were ringing by the time the battle was over, and it was over fast. The mages were keyed up and dangerous, and those less powerfully equipped were reloading and snapping their weapons back together and the room reeked of gunsmoke.

Something on a cot in the corner caught my eye, and I hurried over, bile rising in my throat not just at the stench but at the familiar ladylike dress of the doll-like corpse I'd discovered. I pulled on a stiff, cold shoulder, and sagged as an unfamiliar face turned towards me, the eyes gouged out and dried blood stiffening the greying hair that framed it.

"It's not Ma," I said over my shoulder.

Emeric joined me and looked very sad. "We should have prevented this."

"She'll be the last," Aveline said with quiet determination.

"Hey, Hero, come and have a look at this," Varric said, gazing up at the wall above the fireplace.

"Do we really have time?" Anders asked.

Varric was looking at a portrait, an old one, of a middle-aged man and woman who were presumably husband and wife. They were smiling.

"That's him," DuPuis said, nodding at the picture. "That's Quentin."

"Yeah," I said slowly, "but who's the dame?" If I didn't know better, I'd say it was Ma with an old-fashioned hairstyle and darker eyes.

"That's his wife. Well, was his wife. She died of tuberculosis a few years ago," DuPuis explained.

"We have to find him," I said. "We have to find him fast."

After the noise we'd made, Quentin had to know someone had found his sanctum. We practically ran down a flight of stairs and along the corridor beyond it, Horse bounding along ahead of us. Aveline and Emeric had both thought to bring torches, and their lights jumped and shuddered as they ran, our shadows dancing ahead of us.

There was a door at the end of the hallway and I flung some magic at it and it burst open as we tumbled through.

"Quentin!" I snarled, coming to a halt. Upstairs was the study, downstairs was the lab; but to my relief I didn't see body parts hanging from the walls. "What have you done with my Ma?"

There was another fire lit in this room, and a man was standing in front of it next to a chair, gazing into the flames. He looked over his shoulder at us, and I recognised him from the painting.

"You must be Trip," he said. "Leandra was so sure you'd rescue her. And here you are. And Gasgard too; this is a surprise."

"Master," DuPuis stepped forward, looking angry but controlled, "you killed my sister, and then you just _left_. You bastard."

Quentin's strange, bland smile softened a bit, "I'm sorry Gasgard, but the Templars were getting suspicious and I couldn't stay. You were too young, too unskilled. However, I see you've been practicing-"

I punched DuPuis in the back of the head before we found out what Quentin was going to offer him. I'd been waiting to do that for a while. He crumpled forward onto his knees before falling face down to the floor.

"You could have saved some for the rest of us," Varric said.

"If he wakes up, he's all yours," I told him. I turned my attention back to Quentin, "Don't make me ask twice."

Quentin glanced down at DuPuis and then back up at me, apparently unmoved by his apprentice's fate. "You will never understand my purpose. Your mother was chosen because she was special. Now she is part of something greater."

I let my magic ripple up over my hands and curl off my knuckles.

Quentin didn't seem to be paying much attention. "I pieced her back together from memory. Her eyes, her fingers, her delicate figure. That face, oh, her beautiful face." I suddenly felt very, very cold. "I searched far and wide to find you again, beloved, and no force in this world will part us."

I started running. I heard someone shout behind me, but I didn't hear what they said. I had to know what was sitting in that chair. Quentin's magic hit me like a punch in the stomach and sent me careening off course into a wall. When I'd recovered my balance, the room was heaving. Rattling bones and hellborn hisses filled the air, and Quentin was laughing.

No one else was.

I stumbled as a corpse dug its way out of the ground from under my feet and frantically hurled magic, trying to clear a path to the fireplace. All I did was clear a path to Quentin. A burst of lightning erupted from his outstretched fingers and I dove out of the way and back into the bloody melee. I could hear the heavy thudding of Bianca and the crashes of Aveline's revolver. I couldn't even see them, let alone which direction they were firing. I kept my head down.

"It's all right, I'm here, it's safe." Ma wrapped her arm comfortingly around my shoulders. She smelled like she'd been baking.

"That's just sick," I practically sobbed, and punched her, and again, watching her skin become scales and her hair fall away to nothing as the demon clawed at my face. Blood was trickling into my eyes when she finally disintegrated.

"I've got your back," Fenris murmured. "Maker's Teeth, Trip!" he objected when I elbowed him in the side. "What are you doing?"

"I thought you were a demon," I said, ignoring his horrified expression.

Fenris wasn't a demon, and he stayed at my back as we worked out way across the room towards Quentin. The mage had cornered Anders and was trying to get through his shield.

"What should we do?" Fenris asked, picking off corpses with his automatic.

"Hold him still," I said through my teeth, "and I'll beat that smile off his face."

Fenris's markings flared, and he charged. Quentin must have seen him coming, or maybe something in Anders' expression gave him away, because he turned and cracked Fenris across the head with his staff. Fenris ducked and raised his arm in defence, but he'd lost the element of surprise.

I still had it, struggling past a shade, feeling its amorphous flesh balloon and burst under my magic.

Quentin drove his staff back into Anders' stomach, stopping him from bolstering Fenris.

I ducked as a heavy beam of wood crashed down on the shade's head.

"Go!" Isabela said, "We've got this."

She was obviously out of throwing knives, and I wasn't so sure, but I didn't have time to argue. Fenris was holding his own pretty well against Quentin; Quentin obviously didn't know what to make of his lyrium and was fighting defensively. Anders seemed to be exhausted, barely maintaining his shield. I wondered how many people he'd extended it to.

I launched myself at Quentin, aiming for his staff. My magic and I hit him at the same time and he stumbled. I could feel his magic searing my hands as I twisted his arm back, the bones in his wrist grinding together as I squeezed.

Fenris paused to reload his gun while we wrestled and put it against Quentin's temple. He pulled the trigger.

I expected to get a face-full of blood and bone. Instead Fenris yelped and his gun flew out of his hand. Quentin was baring his teeth with the effort, but he was hanging grimly on.

He looked so dammed righteous. I could see it in his eyes; not a trace of regret, just a pure light of self-belief and twisted love.

"Bastard!" I punched him. His head snapped back as his shield failed. "You son of a bitch." I punched him again, and he stumbled.

I didn't even keep my guard up. I sensed Fernis move to defend my back, but I didn't look up from Quentin. I just kept punching him. I didn't even think about it. I chanted a litany of curses as my knuckles stung, and then bled, and then pain lanced up my wrist.

But I didn't stop.

I didn't even reach for my magic, and that was all that saved me.

"Trip?"

"Ma?"

She staggered towards me, her face as white as chalk, and her eyes dark. A neat row of stiches reached around her neck. I scrambled to my feet and hurried over to her, catching her as she fell.

"Oh Ma, what did he do to you?" I couldn't believe what I was seeing, but the body I held in my arms was not Ma's; it was different, and so cold and stiff.

The others clustered around us, and I looked up at Anders.

He shook his head, "There's nothing I can do; his magic was all that was keeping her together."

"I knew you'd come," she said.

"There has to be something." There was, of course, there always is. I could hear the demons whispering hope in my mind; it would be easy enough, just agree, open a vein and step into the gap that Quentin had left before time ran out.

Ma smiled at me, she must have known what was going on in my head; she had loved other mages after all, "I know you won't. I know you're strong."

"I'm so sorry."

"You freed me. He would have kept me trapped in here forever if you hadn't arrived. All of you." Her gaze shifted away from me for a moment, and focused on the others. I heard Merrill sob and the others sigh, but I didn't take my eyes off Ma. "You've been so good to my family."

This isn't happening. This couldn't be happening. This had to be a dream or a delusion, surely.

"I get to see Bethany again," Ma continued, although her voice was fading, "and your father, but you'll be here alone."

"There's always Gamlen," I said. Maker, I just can't help but make jokes no matter how horrible it is, apparently.

Fenris cleared his throat.

"He won't be alone," he said quietly.

"Yeah, we'll take care of him, don't you worry," Varric promised.

"I'll be fine, Ma," I managed to choke out.

"Tell Carver," she said, "I love you. Both of you. You've always made me so proud."

And that was all she said. I waited and waited for another word, another breath, but it never came.

I heard a bloody rattle from a few feet away. Quentin was still breathing. I couldn't mourn yet, there was still so much to do. I took a deep, shaky breath, and managed not to cry. Somehow.

"We need to-"

"No," Fenris said. I looked up at him. I couldn't read his expression as he gazed down at us. "Let me do this for you. I will take responsibility." He turned away, and walked over to Quentin.

"Fenris, no." I didn't have the heart to object more forcefully, and no one else moved to stop him.

His markings flared as he knelt down and with one swift motion punched his hand right into Quentin's chest. I heard something snap as he pulled it out again, and the mage was still.

"Emeric," Aveline said, "we need to tell someone."

"I'll take care of DuPuis, I think it would be best if some of you were to make yourselves scarce before the Templars arrive."

I stopped paying attention. Anders knelt down and murmured something about a broken knuckle as he applied his magic to my hands. Then Emeric herded Merrill and Anders out, and Aveline went to look for a telephone and I held on to Ma until an ambulance attendant took her away.

It wasn't even time for dinner.


	45. Eight Victims in Patchwork Abomination

The Templars arrived, and then the police arrived, and a couple of detectives gave me a coffee and asked me to tell them what had happened. Aveline and Emeric would get to be the heroes of the hour; I was just a civilian. With a dead mother.

I still couldn't bear to think about it. Eventually I found myself back home, with no real memory of how I got there. I trudged upstairs.

Gamlen was in the living room, sitting next to the wireless, although the device was silent.

"Uncle," I began. I hardly ever called Gamlen anything but his name.

"Varric told me," he said quietly. "Some of it at least."

"Oh."

"Why her, Trip? Why would anyone want to hurt Leandra?"

"I don't know." I trailed into the living room, not really wanting to have this conversation. I wanted to _cry_ dammit, and I couldn't with Gamlen getting in my face. "It was just bad luck," I said. "It doesn't matter."

"Was it a mage, like that DuPuis? What happened to him?"

"The Templars have DuPuis. Yes, it was a mage." I raised my head and glared at him, "Make something of it, Gamlen, I dare you."

He didn't make anything of it.

"Can I do something? Should I do something? Oh, Maker, does Carver know?"

"Emeric was there. If the police don't tell Carver, he will." It occurred to me that the first time I was going to see Carver since he left for the Templars was because of this. "Go to bed. There's nothing more we can do tonight."

"Have you had dinner?"

"No."

Gamlen got to his feet, "Sit down, I'll make you something. You look awful."

I didn't feel hungry, but if Gamlen was so desperate to do something, I'd let him make me something to eat. At the smell of frying fat my stomach rebelled, but when Gamlen put down a plate of fried eggs and ham, I found myself eating the whole thing, even if I didn't taste it.

Gamlen just sat and watched me eat with a blank stare.

I pushed the plate away and we sat in silence. We might very well have been there all night, if the sound of a motor pulling up outside didn't break the silence. We heard footsteps hurrying up the stairs, and Carver burst into the apartment, his face as white as a sheet and his uniform rumpled and askew.

"What he hell?" he ground out.

"Carver-" Gamlen began, but Carver ignored him.

"What the hell?" He didn't even stop to take his hat off; he practically flew across the room and seized me by the collar. "How did you let this happen?" he roared in my face, shaking me with every word.

I socked him on the side of the head. His head snapped sideways, but he didn't let go of me.

"Back off, kid," I snarled. "If you hadn't left, you'd know exactly how this happened."

"Boys, you're both a bit to blame, we all are-"

As one we both turned and slapped Gamlen. We didn't hit him that hard – at least, I didn't, but it successfully shut him up as he sat down heavily, clutching his nose.

"You were supposed to take care of her!"

"I'm not her blighted Keeper! What was I supposed to do, lock her in the house?"

"You knew there was a killer on the loose."

"How dare you blame me for this, you bastard Templar son of bitch," I ground out into his face.

"When it came down to it, your magic wasn't worth a damn."

That was it; I leaped on Carver fully intending to beat the snot out of him like I had done so many times before. He drove his knee up into my side as I landed, less gracefully than I'd intended. I intended to pin him and box his ears until he apologised. He knew exactly what I was up to and fought back viciously.

Why couldn't that stupid bastard have been there? My ears rang as Carver got past my guard and cuffed me. Gamlen wasn't saying anything, not game to after the last time he intervened, and we grunted and snarled at each other.

Ma was gone.

She was dead and there was nothing, nothing, nothing I could do. I was hitting at Carver again and again, intent on breaking my fists on him like I had on Quentin. Quentin who would still be alive if Fenris hadn't taken mercy on me. And I had been so weak to let this happen. It was my case, it had been at the start and I just gave up on it and told myself the cops would handle it and I should have known better.

I should have known.

Somewhere through the haze of rage I heard the front door open. Carver took advantage of my sloppy fighting and hurled me off him and head first into the wall.

That did it; I was going to _kill_ the little sod.

A heavy boot right in the ribs drove all the air out of my lungs, leaving me gasping and curled on the floor. Carver didn't take advantage of it though, and when I looked up I realised why.

"Knock it off, fellas," Varric said, his eyes sad. "This isn't helping anyone."

I tried to say something but only managed a wheeze.

"Are you going to stop or do I have to stomp on you some more?" he asked.

I nodded, and Carver must have done something similar for he stepped back a bit. "I'm sorry for intruding, if you need anything, I'll be downstairs."

"Thanks," I managed to get out, and I sat up. From my seat on the floor I could see Ma's apron hanging off a hook on the back door, and her hat was still on the hatstand, and her untidy sewing basket was in a corner of the room next to her favourite chair. At least Gamlen had gotten rid of the flowers.

All of a sudden I couldn't stand this place anymore.

I staggered to my feet, and Varric put his hand on his arm to steady me. "I'm going out," I said, not looking at anyone. No one stopped me as I collected my hat and coat and fled.

* * *

><p>Fenris wasn't home. I shouted and hit his front door, but the house was silent. I was out of cigarettes; I'd smoked them all on the way up, and I was desperately thirsty. I didn't know what time it was, but it had to be pretty late. Where the hell was he?<p>

I told myself I didn't care and it wasn't my business and went inside.

Fenris's house without Fenris wasn't all that different. I drifted through the ground floor until I found the kitchen. I didn't feel like looking for a glass so I cupped my hands under the tap and drank from them.

Now what? Walk all the way home again, I suppose.

I wandered upstairs, and sat down in one of the chairs. The fire was damped down; Fenris obviously hadn't just stepped out for some fresh air. It was so quiet here. Even the clock on the wall was silent: Fenris obviously couldn't be bothered winding it. At this late hour, there wasn't even a lot of traffic on the roads outside. I listened to myself breathe for a while.

And then I buried my face in my hands and cried.

"Trip?"

I lifted my head off the table, my cheek peeling off the lacquer reluctantly. Fenris was standing in the doorway, and fragments of sunlight and birdsong were floating in through the window.

"Ugh." I said. My mouth felt like I'd swallowed a raccoon.

"You were _here_?" Fenris's forehead wrinkled in concern. "I was waiting at your house. They said you'd gone out. I'm sorry."

"Musta fallen asleep," I said trying to rub some feeling back into the side of my face. "You were there waiting for me all night?"

Fenris was still hovering in the doorway. "I'm not very good at these sorts of things. If you want me to go I will."

"Fenris, this is your house. Why should you go?"

Fenris shrugged, but he stepped a bit closer and took off his hat, tossing it onto the table.

"I don't really know what to say."

I shrugged, "Whatever you think is best."

He knelt down beside me, "I think, in times like this, there is not much point in empty talk." He reached over and put his hand on my shoulder. I didn't know why. I didn't even know if I had the right to come to his house and demand comfort from him.

But he was offering it anyway. He'd gone looking for me to do the same. It helped, a bit.

I turned to him and put my head on his shoulder, squeezing my eyes shut.

"Just say something, anything."

"Anything?"

"Anything."

I felt him move as he sat more comfortably on the floor, and I heard pages turning.

"Once upon a time," he began. "There was a family of rabbits, who lived in a burr- a burrow by a mill stream."

Ma used to read this story to us, about some rabbits outwitting a cunning fox and a greedy miller. I turned my face towards Fenris's jacket so he couldn't see my eyes water. I didn't ask him to stop reading and he didn't stop; only occasionally faltering over a word. His hand was still on my shoulder.

I woke up in a strange bed. Maker, was I going to spend the rest of my life sleeping and waking up in awkward places?

This was Fenris's room, although I'd never seen it from this angle before. I lifted my head, sharply. I was alone. I relaxed again, deliberately thinking of nothing; I knew horrible things were waiting for me once I woke up and remembered who I was again.

I reached out and patted the other side of the bed. Maybe it was warm, maybe it wasn't. Fenris had taken off my shoes and coat. I wasn't sure how he'd managed to haul me across the room though. Maybe I'd helped.

My head felt a bit clearer, the dull ache in my heart a bit further removed. I scratched my chin and wondered what time it was. Time for a bath, Trip.

Fenris had hot running water. I couldn't believe it. If I'd known I would have brought a towel up to Hightown ages ago. I couldn't do anything about the beard, or the bruises.

I couldn't stay here, no matter how much I wanted to.

I dug around in drawers until I found a piece of paper and a pencil and left Fenris a note.

_Thank you for the hospitality. Going back to Lowtown to organise things. Visit whenever you like._

I hesitated over signing it. 'Best regards?' 'Love?' 'Does this mean we're back together?' Too complicated right now. We could wait a bit longer.

_Yours, _

_Trip_

* * *

><p>As it turned out, there wasn't much of Leandra that was still Leandra. The papers thrilled every time a new victim was identified, and some never would be at all. All in all, they thought at least eight women had gone into the monstrosity that had briefly worn my mother's face.<p>

I stopped reading the papers after the second day.

Orsino sent me a contrite and sympathetic note that I appreciated, even if I wasn't sure how or if to respond to it, hand delivered by Emeric, who looked just as miserable as we felt. Eventually I scrawled a thank you.

We pooled our resources, and with Varric's help we were able to purchase Ma a proper funeral. She'd be laid to rest with her parents, in the Amell family crypt in the oldest cemetery in Kirkwall. It took two weeks for them to finally release Ma's ashes and on a crisp winter morning we held a funeral.

The little chapel at the cemetery was full to overflowing. Not only had our friends attended, but some of the nobility had too. The Amell name still commanded some respect. Carver's fellow recruits showed up to pay their respects, and so it was a strange and motley congregation that listened patiently to the sermon. Dwarves, elves, apostates, Templars and thieves all bowed their heads in mourning, if not in devout prayer. Ma had made a lot of friends.

Carver and I had ceased fighting. I found myself exchanging haunted, disbelieving stares with him. They'd given him some compassionate leave, and he'd spent most of it helping us organise Ma's things, and donating to the refugee charity that which we couldn't bear to keep. Her will had divided her wealth equally between us; she'd saved every day of her life since she first left Kirkwall with our father. Neither of us knew what to do with the money, so we left it. It seemed wrong to spend it on rent and tobacco.

The Reverend Mother bowed her head, "And so, we bid farewell to Leandra Hawke; loving mother, loyal wife, and a kind, generous soul. May she live forever at the Maker's side."

Horse threw back his head and howled, and half the congregation jumped in surprise.

"Shh!" I told him. I'm sure Ma would have found it amusing.

Carver and I carried Ma's urn into the crypt and set it in the alcove above a gleaming new brass plaque.

"It's a shame she won't be with Father or Bethany," Carver said.

"It don't matter where her ashes are. If she's with anyone, she's with them."

"That's what they say, anyhow. Take care of them, Ma. Don't worry about us."

"We'll be fine," I added.

We walked back out into the sunlight, and rejoined the others.


	46. Qunari Invade Kirkwall Station

So, Gamlen and I were now living in a bachelor apartment. Soon the dust lay thick on the sideboards and the dust bunnies under the beds grew teeth, but at least Gamlen had been a bachelor for a long time and knew at least the basics of feeding himself. And he wasn't going to let me get away with not learning.

We had rows about who was supposed to do the washing up and who was stealing whose clean socks, but we didn't starve. The others took pity on us too. Even Merrill cooked us dinner once, a rather weedy salad and some kind of bean dip. Her bread, it had to be said, was delicious.

"Please let me live with you."

"No."

"Your house is huge; you won't even notice I'm there."

"I would notice."

"Gamlen forgot the stew was on the stove last night. He burned a hole in the pan. You can still smell the burnt potatoes if you go back in there."

"Trip!" Fenris looked up from his book and glared at me.

"Fenris?"

"Do you honestly think we could live together?"

"We practically live together now; you're here every day, after all."

"I don't eat or sleep or …bathe here." His tan was deepening again. "Trip, we just can't."

"You don't trust me?"

"No, I do. Of course, I do. But it's just too…" he trailed off, looking exasperated.

"You're still thinking about us," I said. "How long are you going to be thinking?"

"If you don't want to wait-"

"Fenris, that's not fair. I am waiting. I don't see why I can't wait at your house."

"I am thinking! I think about you all the damn time! How much worse would that be if you were actually _there_?"

"It might be better," I said, propping my chin up on my hand. "You might do less thinking and more doing."

"What if I do something you don't like?" he asked, staring at me with those evergreen eyes of his.

"Then I'll learn to live with it. I don't know why you have such a low opinion of me."

"It's not you I have a low opinion of," he muttered.

And that was the heart of it. Attempting to broach the subject with Fenris just seemed to make him feel terribly guilty about the whole thing. But I couldn't just walk away. Whenever I really needed him he was there, and offering not just a sidearm and a mean right hook but a shoulder to cry on and a place to stay.

Whenever I started thinking about Leandra, and no one was watching, he would see it in my face and he'd put a hand on my arm or my shoulder, although he never said a word. I never talked to him about it either, as I didn't want him to change his mind and stop.

But you couldn't stay I was really getting anywhere with him.

I groaned and let my head thunk onto my desk.

"You're so dramatic," Isabela said.

"And you're so quiet," I replied, raising my head.

She shrugged, "I didn't want to interrupt the lovebirds."

Fenris ground his teeth at her. She didn't appear to notice.

"I need your help again, Trip." She perched on my desk and handed me some coins. "I want you to follow someone for me."

"Seriously? That's it? No breaking into hotels? No kidnapping people? Just a tail job?"

"Ooh, I like the way you phrase that. Tail job."

"Isabela!"

"Simmer down, boy," she looked over her shoulder at Fenris and smirked at him. "Look, I think this man might have some stolen property. I already searched his apartment while he was out and it's not there. So you need to tail him and let me know where he goes so I can figure out where he's hidden it."

I shrugged, "Well why not? I don't have any other clients today."

* * *

><p>Wall-Eyed Sam. Now there was a name to conjure an image with. The real thing wasn't a disappointment; he looked like someone had drawn his face on a balloon and squeezed. We watched him collect his laundry, and buy tobacco. Then he went home for lunch before hanging out in some speakeasies for a while and playing cards. I half expected to see Gamlen, although with Ma gone he was making a bit more of an effort do find gainful employment every so often.<p>

Fenris and I lounged around chatting and smoking across the street from Sam's speakeasy.

"I never figured Isabela would give us a boring job," I said.

"I don't think she has," Fenris said, not moving his head from apparently idly watching the traffic. "There's a Quanri coming."

"What?"

I don't believe in coincidences like that. The Qunari strode purposefully down the street and I was vindicated when Sam hurriedly exited the speakeasy through a side door when the Qunari approached the front. Fenris and I strolled after him, not wanting to catch the eye of the Qunari ourselves.

"He's not following us," Fenris said as we hurried out of the side street, looking for our target.

"Wall-Eyed got lucky," I said. "There he is." Sam was springing for a taxi, so we hopped on a tram going the same direction. We were prepared to jump off at every street corner, much to the exasperation of our fellow passengers, but to our surprise both the taxi and the tram ended up at the same place.

Kirkwall Station.

"What do we do if he leaves the city?" Fenris asked.

"Ah, to hell with it, let's follow. Isabela can pick up the tab for our holiday."

There was no sign of the Qunari as we hurried to catch up to Sam, weaving our way through people towing luggage and waving down taxies. At least being in a hurry drew no attention here. We caught a glimpse of Sam ducking under the archway leading through to the lockers. Fenris and I exchanged a glance.

If I was going to hide stolen property, a station locker wouldn't be the worst place to put it.

Our footsteps rang on the tiled floor of the station as we ran after him, although we were forced to slow as a sudden tide of people pushed back the other way. We found out why when we rounded the corner.

Wall-Eyed Sam was hunched over a locker but he wasn't looking at it. He was staring in horror at the Qunari down the other end of the cavernous hallway as they casually drew sawn-off shotguns from within their coats.

"They're starting a war," Fenris hissed. "Bringing an armed force here."

"They don't care," I said. "They nearly have what they came for; the formula." Everything was falling into place; Isabela's knowledge of the Qunari and the _saarebas, _the continuing occupation of the Qunari themselves, and Isabela's ongoing quest that had kept her in the city for months.

Wall-Eyed Sam decided discretion was the better part of valour and ran.

And the Qunari shot him.

Fenris and I ducked for cover as they opened up, and the panicked screams of the innocent bystanders only added to the din as the guns sent clouds of cordite drifting down the hallway. The sight of the Qunari had all but emptied the hallway, and while I heard a lot of shouting I didn't hear screams of pain.

Wall-Eyed Sam wouldn't be screaming ever again. He was just a ragged heap on the floor.

"Bloody hell," I said, peering cautiously around the corner. "They're going to the locker."

"What should we do?" Fenris asked.

"They killed a man in broad daylight. They may kill more trying to get out of here once the cops arrive."

"But if they get what they want then they might leave for good."

"Then they can have it, if they ask nicely. Cover me and try not to kill them."

Fenris nodded.

"Hey!" I shouted, and came out of hiding, holding my hands away from my sides. "Hey, you killed that fella!"

"Go away, _basra_," one of the Qunari rumbled at me. "This doesn't concern you." They were clustered around the locker that Wall-Eyed Sam had been trying to open, and one of them was taking a crowbar to it. They already knew their formula was here somewhere; they just needed to know which locker.

I kept walking forward, watching their guns. They didn't appear to recognise me. Good. I just needed to get within range. As soon as I was close enough, I bent my knees and launched myself at the Qunari, he was swinging his gun around but he was too slow. I applied just a bit of magic and punched the hand holding the weapon up into his face. I could hear the pop of Fenris's automatic over my shoulder.

And then someone opened up with a machine gun, and I hit the deck.

"Hell!" When the gun fell silent, I raised my head. Fenris was still taking cover behind the corner, and the Qunari were either dead or wounded.

Isabela kicked away the suitcase she'd hidden the gun in and rested the butt of the weapon on her hip as she strolled over.

"Thanks, Trip. It was dumb of you to walk right into 'em but you made a good distraction."

"You killed them." I got to my feet. I could hear Fenris hurrying over.

"I didn't enjoy it. Here, hold this. I'll get the locker open." She offered me the machine gun.

"No!" I raised my hands sharply.

"Sorry Trip, I forgot." She smiled and lent it against the wall. She ignored the crowbar and went to work with her picks, cool as ice, despite the blood pooling on the floor at her feet.

"The Qunari are here because of the formula, aren't they?" I asked.

"Of course they are, Trip. Thank you for helping me find it." She got the door open and she grabbed the packet of papers that was sitting inside.

"We have to give it back to them. Maybe they'll forgive us all of this," I said, looking at the Qunari.

"No." Isabella tucked the papers into a pocket on her fitted jacket and picked up the machine gun.

"What are you doing?" I asked.

"I'm going to return these to Castillion," she said.

"You can't! You just started a war, Isabela." I took a step forward.

Isabella raised her weapon, and pointed it at my chest, with a regretful look. "That's not my problem, Trip. And it's not yours either." She smiled sadly at me over her gun, "Come with me. Both of you. Kirkwall isn't worth it. The Qunari aren't worth it. This city doesn't appreciate you."

"Isabela, there are other options. We can do something about Castillion."

"Trip, you can't take on the entire Rivanian mafia. And you can't single-handedly fight a war with the Quanri. You're many things, but you're not a miracle worker."

"Well, it looks like you're not leaving me a lot of choice in the matter."

"Isabela, this is foolish," Fenris said.

"The whole thing was foolish," she said. She shook her head, talking to herself more than us, "You shouldn't get attached to people; this is always how it ends."

She started backing away.

"Isabela!" I stepped forward and stopped again sharply as a bullet flew past my ear.

"Don't make me choose between your life and mine, Trip, please."

I'd seen Isabela pretend to cry before. The real thing was much less dramatic. But the quiver of her lip and the water in her eye convinced me she wasn't bluffing. Not this time.

"Tell the Arishok the formula's gone," she suggested. "Maybe it will help."

"What, so he can invade another city? Isabela, we can stop all of this."

"You're a good man, Trip. And I am not a good woman. You're a detective; you should have figured _that_ out a long time ago." She was still backing away, and when she reached the end of the hallway she lowered her gun and ran.

I ran after her, Fenris at my heels, but she was far more expert at evading pursuit than I was. I found the machine gun tossed in a trash can, the butt sticking out the top. A train whistle blew.

And then we were both arrested.

* * *

><p>"I knew she was trouble, right from the beginning," Aveline said. "You're just lucky there were enough witnesses around to corroborate your story, or you'd have been nicely stitched up for this whole mess."<p>

"Isabela never intended to stitch us up," I pointed out.

"Huh!"

The three of us were sitting the café across from the police headquarters. They'd spent the afternoon grilling us, but we hadn't done anything wrong other than failing to stop Isabela breaking into the locker. We professed ignorance as to its contents.

"What a mess," Aveline said. "But if we can convince the Qunari to leave, maybe it's for the best. The formula's gone, hasn't it? They've got no reason to stay."

"I'm not so sure about that. The Arishok's at the end of his rope. Half a dozen more deaths won't improve his mood any."

"He has to leave if he's ordered back."

"Exactly. He may find himself in a position with nothing left to lose in Kirkwall."

"If that stupid thief had just thought about someone other than herself, just _once_," Aveline gritted her teeth. "If I ever see her again, I'm wringing her neck."

"I doubt any of us are going to see her again." And I wasn't happy about that. Isabela had been my lover briefly, but she'd been a friend for a lot longer. I was going to miss her, and it was only starting to hit me just how much. "She always did her best to help us."

"Only because she thought it was fun."

I sighed, "Well, she was a lot of fun. I hope her apology is accepted at least. She paid a high enough price to offer it."

"We all have," Aveline said sourly.

I tossed some coins on the table, "I should get home. It's my turn to cook tonight."

"Stay near the telephone, Trip," Aveline said. "The Arishok seems to like you, and we might need your help to calm him down."


	47. Mayor's Son Kidnapped by Qunari

"Trip! Dammit, open up!" Varric was practically breaking my door down.

I abandoned my rather sad breakfast of cold porridge and opened the door. I got a face full of newspaper.

"What the?"

"Read. Front page. You mean no one's called you yet?"

I stepped aside to let Varric in as I shook the creases out of the early edition Kirkwall Post.

"Mayor's Son Kidnapped by Qunari. Embassy Siege," I read out. "Maker's Breath, what happened last night?"

"You won't get much out of reading the fine print," Varric said, as I skimmed the rest of the front page. "It's all hysterics and no actual information."

"Well, I know who I can talk to who might have some idea what's really going on." I marched over to the phone and asked for a line to the Qunari embassy. Varric looked approving, but not all that optimistic. To my surprise, and his, we got through. The Qunari on the other end asked if I was from the newspaper, and I told him I wasn't. I gave him my name and not too long after that, the Arishok's voice was rumbling in my ear.

"Ah, Hawke. I was wondering if we might hear from you."

"Do you have Seamus?" I asked.

"Clarify."

"Do you know where he is?"

"No."

"Did you kidnap him?"

"No. I would like to know who did."

"The, uh," I beckoned Varric to show me the paper again, "Post says he seen going into the Embassy last night."

"He was here. He went home to talk to his father."

"What about? If you don't mind me asking."

"I don't mind you asking at all, Hawke." The Arishok sounded amused, quietly triumphant even. "He has converted to the Qun."

I flinched, and Varric raised an eyebrow at me.

"I see."

"Find him, Hawke. He is one of us now, and if he is harmed in any way there will be retribution." He hung up.

I replaced the earpiece on its cradle carefully, like it was a live spider.

"It's gonna be a busy day," I said faintly.

I repeated the gist of my brief conversation with the Arishok and Varric flinched too.

"So the Qunari don't have him. Do you believe that?"

"I do. They're many things, but they're not liars. And now that he's converted they have even less reason to harm him."

Fenris arrived at that point.

"What are you going to do?" he asked, once the situation had been explained.

"Well, we've got a precedent to go off at least. This isn't the first time valuable Qunari property has been hidden in Kirkwall."

"The _saarebas_," Fenris said.

"Precisely. It's not proof, but we need to eliminate the Chantry before casting our net wider."

When we returned to the Lowtown Chantry, things were much as they had been the last time we visited only much more crowded. The colder weather had driven many more people to seek sanctuary within its walls, and we picked our way through the sluggish crowd waiting patiently for the next meal.

"If you're looking for the boy, he's not here."

The sister who'd helped me look for Gamlen last time I was here was watching us, her hands on her hips.

"Err…"

"Oh don't give me that, lad. Do you think I wouldn't forget you or your friend," she flicked an unamused look at Fenris, "or the terrible events of the night that followed your visit?"

"Look, I just need to know-"

"I know. I'm not blind." She relented, "Follow me; we can talk out the back." She led us through the Chantry and out through the kitchen to the loading area we'd use to escape with the _saarebas_. The sister produced a pipe and a pouch of tobacco from her voluminous habit and we waited while she carefully filled the former.

"I don't know exactly what's going on," she said. "But I don't like it. Qunari, kidnappings, are these things the Maker's will? I think not."

"So the Chantry is behind it."

"The Chantry most certainly is not!" she snapped. "But misguided individuals, perhaps. When I saw the papers this morning, I feared history might be repeating itself. And then I saw you." She sighed and blew smoke out of the corner of her mouth. "The mother of this Chantry now serves at the cathedral in Hightown," she said finally. "And I pray for that information to be irrelevant."

"Thank you, Sister. Do you have a phone line here?"

"Yes, but I'd rather you used another."

I saw her point. We adjourned to a nearby soda joint and Varric and Fenris ordered some lunch while I called Aveline.

"The Cathedral. Are you sure about this, Hawke?" she asked.

"You know as much as I do, and you're the one with the badge." I gazed enviously at Fenris as he started inhaling a slice of pie. I wasn't sure what I envied more, frankly, the pie or him. With a bit of luck, I could hand this whole mess over to Aveline; I certainly wasn't going to give the Arishok an excuse to march on the Chantry.

"Sorted," I said, sitting down to my lunch.

"You think?" Varric asked.

"Oh, why so cynical? What could possibly go wrong?"

* * *

><p>When we got back to my office, Aveline was waiting for us, looking grim. We picked up the pace a bit and she stepped forward to meet us.<p>

"Hawke, we need to talk. Inside. Now. I need your help- no; the city needs your help." I'd never seen her look so shaken. She was chalk-white under her freckles and her eyes practically glowed with a cold fury.

I didn't argue. I unlocked the door and ushered everyone in.

"Your information was good, Trip," Aveline said, "but a bit too late. Seamus is dead."

"_What_?"

"We managed to keep it out of the papers so far, but you can bet the news will be out by the evening edition." Aveline paced around my office and the rest of us kept out of her way. "The sergeant sent all the female officers home, and I didn't even have time to bend his ear about it. I came here." She shrugged helplessly, "I didn't know where else to go. The city's threatening to come down around our ears and I turn to a gumshoe."

"Hang on," I said, "how did he die? Was he actually in the Chantry?"

"Yes, he was. Somewhere between the end of morning service and a quarter noon someone dragged him in there and stabbed him. He was gagged and his hands had been bound."

"An execution then, not a fight. Someone did kidnap him after all."

"I suppose you're going to tell me it wasn't your blighted Qunari that are to blame?" Aveline looked tired.

"They didn't direct me to the Chantry. A sister in Lowtown did. They wouldn't have hurt him anyway; he'd converted."

Aveline exhaled shakily. "He'd converted," she repeated. "This can of worms just keeps getting bigger."

"Do they know?" I asked sharply.

"They will soon enough. They're top of the list of suspects; when I left, half the station was delegated as backup for the detectives going in to talk to them about it."

"Call them off," I said. "The Arishok's go not reason to hold back. The last thing he needs is an excuse. I'd hoped he was going to be content with taking Seamus away as a willing convert as a final insult tossed over his shoulder."

"There's nothing we can do," Varric spoke up. "If the Qunari and the police are going to have a fight, we should just stay out of the way until it's over."

"Strategically speaking," Fenris said, "they're bottled up in the embassy. A siege could last for weeks, but they can't hurt anyone in there."

"We'd better hope that's what happens then," I said.

We gathered in the living room to listen to the wireless, but no breaking news interrupted the Wallop Commentary, or the New Music Hour that came after that. It didn't really reassure any of us. I didn't like just hanging out at home, like, like _Gamlen_, but Varric was right; there was nothing for us to gain by wading in providing civilian targets.

"Trip? Trip, are you in?"

"Living room, Merrill, come on through," I called back.

Merrill practically flew through my office and skidded to a halt, gasping for breath. "Oh thank goodness you're here. I thought you might be there. I don't know why you would, be really. Only you always seem to."

"Merrill, you're not really making a lot of sense," I said gently. "Slow down and tell us what's going on." Her hair was stuck to her forehead under her hat and she was still catching her breath. "Merrill, did you run here all the way from the Alienage? Why on earth didn't you take your car?"

"I didn't dare to," she said. "I didn't want anyone to notice me. I don't know what they're planning to do."

"Who's they?" I asked.

"The Qunari."

"In the _Alienage?_" Aveline said. "They should be in the embassy."

"I don't know where they came from. I heard shouting outside, and people were running everywhere. And arguing. Some elves were saying that the Qun was commanding them, and there were a few fights. I followed the crowd for a bit, and there were Qunari in the market square. They were covered in paint and wearing leather skirts."

"Traditional dress," Fenris murmured. "They're ready to die."

"They were handing out guns," Merrill said.

"They're prepared for a lot of other people to die too," I said. "Did they say anything to the crowd?"

"They said we had a choice," Merrill said. "We could join the Qun and be free, or reject the Qun and remain slaves."

"That's the choice they offer all their conquered peoples," Fenris said.

"Kirkwall is not conquered Qunari territory!" Aveline objected sharply.

"Yet," I added.

"Oh come on, Trip," Varric said, "They can't possibly take over the city. There can't be more than a hundred of them at most."

"And how many elves are there?" I pointed out. "I don't think they're going to win either, but think how many people they could hurt before they go."

"Have you got a plan?" Merrill asked hopefully.

"No. It's a bit outside of my usual brief. Fenris, do you have any ideas? How can we stop them?"

"The Arishok seems to respect you," Fenris said carefully. "I suspect because of your, hm, purity of purpose."

"What does that mean?" I asked.

"When you take on a task you pursue it to the end. You are not distracted or bought or frightened off. They serve the Qun with the same purity of purpose. The Arishok sees how you are alike."

"If I served the Qun," I grated out, "I'd be hooked up to a sodding _harness_ and told I served a purpose only as a slave. Less than a slave, an object."

Fenris bowed his head in acknowledgement.

I sighed, "Can I use this respect somehow? Persuade him to leave?"

"You cannot persuade him from his purpose. At best you might be able to redirect his purpose."

"Well," I got to my feet, "it's worth a shot. I have to do something before a whole lot people die."

"Pity we didn't have the formulae," Aveline said. "We don't have a lot to bargain with."

"I'll improvise," I said. "It's not like I can't tell him what happened to the formula at least. Although I can't tell him where it's gone."

I turned off the wireless and collected my hat and coat. When I looked behind me, everyone was doing the same. I was going to protest, but I knew it wouldn't make any difference.

"Merrill, can you get us back to the market square without drawing too much attention?"

"I can try," she said.

It was oddly quiet in Lowtown. Somehow, the news had spread, through elves like Merrill who hadn't signed up for the Qunari's latest crusade. We kept to alleyways and side streets, and occasionally we met someone hurrying the other way. We'd start, make brief eye-contact and jog past each other.

When we got to the Alienage we slowed down, picking our way through mud and litter. Varric kept absentmindedly tugging on the clasps that held Bianca's case closed.

"They've stopped shouting," Merrill said quietly.

I cocked my head and listened. I could hear something; it almost put me in mind of the ocean. I took the lead from Merrill, following the noise. I halted at the end of our alleyway and stared across the market square.

There were the dozens of Qunari that Varric had predicted, and hundreds of elves, most of them wielding improvised weapons, and even a few with bows. The time for talking was obviously passed, and I could see the Arishok towering even above his fellow Qunari as he took the lead, the column marching slowly but with grim purpose up to slope, towards Lowtown and the city centre beyond.

I had to stop this. I didn't even think about it, I was moving, stepping out of the shadows into the sunlight, Fenris at my heels and the others not far behind.

I stuck my fingers in my mouth and whistled shrilly, the sound cutting through the endless shuffling of feet. The Arishok stopped, and his followers stumbled into each other following his example. He turned his horned head, looking around. The crowd began to part, as the elves at the back noticed us.

The Arishok turned to face me, at this distance I couldn't read his expression, but I guessed it to be mild surprise.

I cupped my hands around my mouth and shouted, "What do you think you're doing?"

The Arishok motioned with his free hand – the one that wasn't holding the shotgun – for the crowd to move away, and beckoned me closer.


	48. Slain: Saemus Dumar Executed

"I'm right behind you," Fenris murmured. "Be careful."

He didn't need to tell me that.

The crowd was silent as I stepped forward, and the Arishok did too, a couple of Qunari trailing him, their weapons still lowered for now.

"Hawke," the Arishok said. "It would have disappointed me if our business had concluded before seeing you again. You alone in this vile, degraded city are _Basalit-an._"

"Very nice of you to say so. Where do you think you're going?" I repeated.

"To the place you call City Hall, of course. One of our number, one of your most respected people, has been slain and the Qun demands retribution."

"The Qun does? Or you do? This is simply what the people who killed Saemus want you to do."

"Then why do you object, Hawke?"

"Because you have no right! The formula is gone. You have no reason to remain here any longer."

"Hold on just one moment!" I turned, my jaw dropping in surprise as Isabella sashayed out of the alleyway. "What if your precious formula was returned? Would you leave Kirkwall?"

"Isabela!"

The Arishok looked amused at our obvious surprise. "Perhaps," he said.

I glanced at him and then retreated to the others, who were clustering around Isabela. I stepped right up to her and swept her into a hug.

Isabela laughed with surprise, "I missed you too."

"It is so good to see you," I told her.

She quirked a smile, "If I had a gold for every time a fella said that." Her smile faded to an annoyed look and she slapped my shoulder lightly, "I couldn't do it, Trip. I was halfway to Rivian when I had to change trains and come back. Your disapproving shade wasn't letting me get any sleep." She glanced over my shoulder, "Am I too late?"

"Maybe not," I said. "Do you have the formula?"

She dug it out of her cleavage and handed it to me.

"What about Castillion?" I asked.

"Oh, hang Castillion," she said with a toss of her head. "If I'm going to let that rat dictate how I treat my friends I may as well just hand myself over to him now."

I was going to make a comment about the changeability of a woman's mind, but Merrill caught my eye and I thought better of it.

The Arishok was still waiting, as motionless as a statue.

I opened up the packet of papers, while Merrill and Varric fussed over Isabela and welcomed her back.

"Can you make any sense of it?" Aveline asked, as I squinted at the numbers.

"Well, that's the symbol for lyrium," I said.

"The Qunari mage we tried to rescue wrote it, I think," Isabela said. "At least, they were stolen together."

"Hawke!" The Arishok spoke again. "If you return the formula and the thief who stole it, we will spare your city our wrath."

"Do you honestly think I would consider, even for a moment, handing over my friend to you?"

"She is a thief. Justice would be served. If the thought of her death concerns you, she will not die."

"They'll try and 're-educate' her," Fenris said quietly.

"No."

"A pity, Hawke. You know we cannot retreat. And we must have that formula."

"I hope you've thought of a plan," Aveline said.

"I don't think I brought enough ammunition to fight everyone here," Varric added.

I didn't have a plan. I looked at the formula, trying to wring some sense from the numbers, some reason why I should be so important. I'd never know exactly what it did, but I was beginning to understand the shape of it.

"There is a way to avoid a bloodbath," Fenris said slowly, and a touch reluctantly.

"What? Spit it out, Fenris."

"He called you _Basalit-an_, an outsider worthy of respect. You can challenge him."

"What, one on one?" I stared at Fenris, "Are you quite mad?"

He grabbed my arm and pulled me away from the others, talking low and urgently into my ear, "This is what you've been training for. I know how you fight, Trip. I believe you are capable of defeating him." He looked utterly sincere. "Just don't let him touch you."

"If he lands a blow, I lose."

Fenris nodded.

"If I'm going to do this, it will be for nothing less than the highest stakes." I raised my voice, "Arishok. I've already seen what your formulae are capable of. You've poisoned the Alienage enough already."

I extended my hand, "Varric, can I have a light?"

"Er, sure." He offered me his matches and held the striker while I lit one. I raised the packet of papers that Isabela had handed me and ignited it.

I could feel a ripple of consternation spread through the crowd as I held the blazing paper aloft until it singed my fingers and I dropped the charred remains on the ground. Now the world would never know just what the Qunari were planning to do with lyrium. The Qunari behind the Arishok shook their heads and murmured in their own language. The Arishok just watched me silently.

I looked back at the Arishok, "I challenge you, as _Basalit-an_!"

"For what, Hawke? The formula is gone."

"For Kirkwall," I said. I spread my hands, "I killed Saemus; I admit it. I kidnapped the _saarebus_ too. I shot the Qunari in Kirkwall Station."

I could hear my friends making queries as to my mental health behind me, but the Arishok seemed to get it.

"You would take on the crimes of this entire city, Hawke?"

"Yes."

He looked around at the grimy buildings that lined the market square, "You would die for this? These people who do not even know your name? You would be this city's champion?"

"Well, someone's gotta do it."

"Yes," the Arishok said, "but so many _bas_ do not understand that. I accept your challenge, Hawke."

* * *

><p>To my relief, it turned out we weren't going to fight in the street. With the crowd following – although I noticed some elves dispersing to safer places, we made our way further into the Alianage to a reasonably large warehouse, currently half full of woven rugs. We got our own little corner as elves scrambled up onto the merchandise to get a good vantage point for the fight.<p>

"Are you mad, Trip?" Isabela asked. "He's going to smear you across the walls."

"I hate to say it, Hero, but she's got a point."

"It doesn't matter," I said. "I took on the crimes of the city, even if I lose they're going to leave, right Fenris?"

"They may still pursue Isabela," Fenris said, "but they won't march on Hightown this time." He was starting to look like he was having second thoughts. I know I was. But it was too late now.

"You're a brave man, Trip," Aveline said.

"Just stupid," I replied. I started stripping off my coat and shirt. "Is there anything I need to know, Fenris?"

"You challenged him, so he gets to decide whether or not you'll use weapons."

"Weapons? You mean he's going to take a _shotgun_ to a fist fight? Why didn't you mention this earlier?"

"He may not, Trip. And if he does, you get to bring your magic."

"Right." I shooed everyone away while I warmed up. Fenris stayed.

"Please don't die," he said softly.

I looked at Fenris. "Can I have a kiss?" I asked. "For luck."

"Trip!" He frowned and immediately went several shades darker. He shuffled his feet and darted sideways glances at the assembled crowd. "We're in public," he muttered, still awkwardly moving.

I relented.

"The fact that you were seriously considering it is enough," I told him with a grin. I got to my feet, "Well, I'm as ready as I'm gonna get, I think."

"Trip, wait." I heard Fenris say, but I was already walking away.

I walked out into the centre of the room, "Are we using weapons?" I asked.

"You are never without your weapons," the Arishok said. He held his shotgun loosely in his right hand.

Shit.

We faced each other, waiting for the gong to strike. Was there a gong? Maker, he was about three times my weight. And he had a damn gun. And I had an audience; no magical fireworks from me, I'd have to hide it in my fists.

"Begin!" one of the Qunari shouted.

I leaped at him; I couldn't afford to fight defensively. He raised his gun and at the last second I twisted to the side, both fists blazing blue. I wasn't aiming at him; instead I was focusing on his firing pin. I could sense the potential of the gun, even though I wasn't the one holding it. I staggered, although he hadn't touched me, as I braced the force of the igniting gunpowder against my own. I wouldn't have a hope once the shell was actually moving. The gun clunked hollowly and the crowd sighed.

Misfire.

The Arishok worked the mechanism to chamber a new round. I darted in again, and he swung the gun down at me, aiming to brain me with it. I dodged and he missed my head by a whisker as I jabbed him hard in the side. He grunted but barely moved; my hand stung.

Fenris thought I could do this?

Fenris thought I could do this.

I swung around for another attack as the Arishok swatted at me with his gun, like I was an annoying fly. A fly with a sting; I managed to put some magic into my next swing, and he staggered forward. I ignored the pain in my hand to press my advantage when I heard a shell clattering across the floor. I dropped to the floor as the shotgun went off over my head, the elves in the firing line darting out of the way as the shot thumped dustily into the mountains of rugs.

The Arishok aimed a kick at my ribs. I tried to scuttle out of the way, but only partially succeeded. Pain bloomed across my chest and I lost my breath as his boot connected. I used the momentum of the kick to skid into a roughly upright position. Every breath throbbed painfully down my side. I was sure he'd busted a rib or two.

He had at least another four shots left. I'd been riding my luck hard, but I didn't think it would last until he had to reload.

Another hot shell landed on the ground. I braced myself as the Arishok raised the shotgun again. I had to time this just right. I focused on his trigger finger, watching the knuckle slowly whiten as he squeezed. I just needed the spark.

I got it. I flung my magic out, not caring if anyone could see the glow around my hands. If I didn't get this right I was going to get a chestful of buckshot and I'd never have to worry about Templars ever again. I let it burn, but punched the force back towards the Arishok. The gun jumped in his hands, but only smoke left the barrel.

Another misfire.

The Arishok tried to pump in a new round, but the mechanism only moved half an inch or so before jamming. I allowed myself to sag with relief for a moment.

He adjusted his grip on the gun, moving his hand away from the trigger, and raised it like a club as he charged at me. The crowd had been silent up to that point, but now they cheered; they didn't really want to watch an execution, but a beating was right up their alley.

I hurled myself out of the way and as the Arishok skidded to a halt I leaped on his back, wrapped an arm around his neck, and started punching him in the back of the head. It wasn't a move that would have gone down well in any sort of ring fight, but the crowd here loved it.

The Arishok wasn't so pleased. He seized me by the arm and hauled me off him without any apparent effort at all. I flailed, trying to get loose. I got loose when he threw me against one of the piles of rugs. I was on the defensive again, coughing dust out of my mouth and ducking as he swung his gun at me.

I saw an opening and I managed to flatten his nose, his head snapping back as the cartilage crunched under my fist and my magic. He lashed out in pain, and the end sight on the shotgun opened up my cheek to my jaw as neatly as any razor. Warm blood trickled down my neck and chest, and the Arishok was spitting his own away from his mouth. Smears of it decorated the floor as we shuffled and circled each other.

I was feeling rather faint. The crowd was just a dull noise in my ear, and the lights beyond the ring just luminous smears at the edge of my vision. Only the Arishok stayed in focus.

Don't let him land a hit. Don't let him.

He swung, and I danced to the side, my vision swimming with the effort. I couldn't keep this up much longer. I charged. I saw his muscles tense to bring the gun, now bloodied halfway up the barrel, down on my head. I threw some force at it, just enough to delay him, and put everything into a strike under his guard, right in the throat.

The blow landed on my back, and we both staggered in a bloody embrace. The Arishok fought for air while I fought for consciousness. I drove a knee into his stomach and finally disentangled myself. He was reeling. I grabbed the gun, and crunched down on the hand that held it with my last reserves. Even though he was holding it with broken fingers, it took all my strength to break the Arishok's grasp.

But I had the gun. By the wrong end, fortunately, and I knew it was disabled.

I belted the Arishok across the face with it. He staggered, and finally fell.

I wondered if my eardrums had burst. For some reason I couldn't hear anything. Then I realised the crowd had fallen silent.

The Arishok was still breathing, but he wasn't moving.

"My, code!" I was using the gun to prop myself upright. "I do not kill. But I won." Maker it hurt to talk, it hurt to breathe. "Get out!"

The Qunari stirred.

"Someday we will return," one of them told me, as two others stooped to lift the Arishok. I tossed the gun in their general direction, and immediately wished I hadn't, as my knees gave way.


	49. Qunari Quit Kirkwall

They dragged me back out into the sunlight, Merrill tearing off ahead to Darktown to find Anders. When we emerged from the warehouse, Fenris and Aveline holding me up between them, there wasn't an elf in sight. For good reason.

They'd practically launched a full-scale invasion of the Alienage. The narrow streets were full of shiny official cars, edging their way around abandoned market stalls and rows of bicycles.

I recognised police, Templars and …mages?

I wondered if the Arishok had managed to hit my head harder than I'd thought.

Everyone was standing around, looking serious, in the way that large numbers of uniformed men always do, but without appearing to be doing any obvious work. The mages were herded into a little knot, the Templars keeping a close eye on them. Of all the groups, the mages seemed to be having the best time, looking around at the Alienage architecture and talking among themselves.

"What in the world?" I tried to say. The blood pouring from my cheek had mostly dried, and the entire side of my face was stiff and painful. I tried not to move it too much in case it started bleeding again.

They'd noticed us. I suppose we were fairly noticeable.

I found myself watching Meredith marching over to us, Orsino of all people in tow, and some other fellas in suits I didn't recognise trailing along behind. Aveline straightened up as much as she could under my weight and saluted, but she only halted us with reluctance when Meredith blocked our path.

"Officer; report," Meredith ordered. "Where are the rest of the Qunari, and where is the Arishok?"

"Sleeping peacefully," I croaked.

Orsino swept past Meredith, and I felt the cool tingle of healing magic as he pressed his fingers to my cheek.

"Do you know this man?" Meredith asked him with a disapproving look.

Orsino frowned, and glanced over his shoulder at her for a moment before returning to work. "Honestly, Commander, I'm not just going to stand by and watch a man bleed to death in front of me while I wait for you to give permission. As far as I'm aware, there are not yet any regulations against healing magic."

Meredith narrowed her eyes at me, "You seem familiar."

"We met in my neighbour's shop once," I said, finding I could speak properly again. I tried not to laugh as Orsino's magic tickled my ribs. It felt like he was putting things back better than they were originally; breathing ceased to be painful.

"Perhaps you'd care to share what's so funny?" Meredith said. "I personally see nothing to laugh about after all the lives that were lost today."

"The Qunari, and the Arishok, are leaving," I said. "We held a boxing match, and I won."

She looked almost offended by my explanation. "Who _are_ you?" she asked.

"Trip Hawke, PI," I told her.

"Ah, you helped bring Saemus back the first time he decided to run off with the Qunari."

"I didn't do so good this time."

Meredith gestured over her shoulder and a group of Templars marched into the building we'd just exited from. I didn't think they'd find anything but blood; the elves had melted back into the side-streets and Qunari wouldn't have any reason to be hanging around either.

"Now that you can speak properly," Meredith said as Orsino straightened up and nodded at me, "I need to know everything."

So I told her. Most of it at least.

She paced around in front of me while I told my story, frowning.

"Are you saying the Qunari didn't kill Saemus?"

"Are you saying you still think they did?" I shot back. Orsino had mended most of my injuries but I still had bruises all over, and I was exhausted from using my magic.

Aveline intervened before Meredith could form a properly chastising response, "I believe Trip's information is good. We've no reason to think the Qunari had easy access to the cathedral. However," she added, "that is a matter for the police."

The two women glared at each other for a few moments.

"Naturally," Meredith said. "The city requested the aid of the Templars once the Qunari started rioting."

"What happened in Hightown?" I asked.

"The Qunari led a charge from the embassy, but it turned out to be a feint. The bulk of their forces were here." Her cold blue eyes regarded me closely, "And now they've gone again."

"I hope they've gone," I said. "I didn't exactly follow them to wave a handkerchief at their departure."

"If they are not, we will find them. As for you, Mister Hawke, I find it quite surprising that someone like you could beat the Arishok in single combat. You might have quite a career ahead of you in the ring."

I could tell she was suspicious. Then again, she looked suspicious of everything. I waved a hand, "There are plenty of witnesses."

"Oh, I dare say your friends will corroborate your story. Getting anyone else to come forward might be something else again."

"That's not my problem," I said.

"It might be your problem if we are left with questions by the time this is over."

"You know, I'm glad I didn't I didn't go into this with the expectation that I might receive some gratitude. I'm exhausted. The danger is passed. Unless you want to arrest me or whatever it is Templars do, I'm going home."

Meredith shrugged and I started shambling off in my bloodstained shirt. Fenris was carrying my coat.

"What Templars do, Mister Hawke," Meredith said, just before I left earshot, "is find people who can do the impossible. And we keep them safe. And we keep more ordinary people safe from them."

I stared at her blankly and shrugged.

I felt a cold, hard stone settle in my stomach.

* * *

><p>For the next few days I kept the windows open, just in case I had reason to jump through them should Meredith pay me a visit, but everything remained quiet. Well, quiet for me, anyway. The papers weren't sure what to scream about most, the ongoing investigation of Saemus's murder and allegations of corruption within the Chantry, or the final disappearance of the Qunari and the near-rebellion of the elves.<p>

I was just glad it was over. My bruises healed, and Anders explained that it was hard to prove definitively that someone was a mage once they were trained. Mage children couldn't control their magic; they were easy to discover, and most apostate adults had been in the Circle at some point, and records, if not always their phylacteries, usually remained. I was a little different.

"What if someone sees me and reports me? They can take me in, can't they?"

"They need a warrant. Well, the rules say they need a warrant, but I'm sure Meredith can get anything she wants in this city. Once they take you in they could torture you to provoke a magic response, or expose you to lyrium. Bottom line, Trip, don't get reported."

"Anyone who had a clue what they were looking for would have noticed my magic during the fight. I was trying to hide it at first, but I figured staying alive was more important at the time."

Anders looked worried, and polished his glasses on the hem of his shirt. He really was starting to look like he got dressed in the dark more often than not, nowadays. I suspect he did.

"I wish you hadn't done that, Trip."

"I don't. I don't care that I'm not shaking the mayor's hand or getting my mug in the paper. I did the right thing; I stopped a massacre. You know, I was thinking, well maybe I wasn't thinkin' and that was the point, but I coulda died and I knew that. And I didn't matter. I was sick of those bastards and I had an opportunity to use their own blighted rules against them."

"I understand," Anders said. He raised his head and looked me in the eye, "it's people like you that change the world, Trip. For the better."

"Hey, I'm not the one healing the sick. You've saved a lot more lives than I have."

Anders shook his head, "I'm not really changing anything. I make a difference for individuals but the world's just as messed up as it's always been."

I laughed, "The ain't anything anyone can do about that, Anders."

"Hmm." He didn't look convinced.

A bunch of elves tried to cause trouble over the next few weeks, and as always it went badly for them. Anders tried to argue their case in a new pamphlet, and that did about as much good as it always had.

Everyone was trying to take credit, somehow, for the Qunari leaving. Dumar emerged from mourning to give a brief statement about it, Meredith publicly commended the bravery of the Templars who assisted the forces of law and order during the brief battle in Hightown, and Orsino had a long and sarcastic letter published in the Kirkwall Post about the bravery of the Templars getting in the way of the mages who helped tend to the injured and put out fires.

It didn't look like that fight was going to end any time soon.

It wasn't all bad news though. Aveline got her result at last, after the Grand Cleric finally and publicly ordered the clergy to co-operate fully with the police. People like the Sister in the Lowtown Chantry started coming forward, and since the list of suspects wasn't long, an arrest was made merely two weeks later.

Mother Patrice became the newspapers' favourite person, as she provided endless quotes for anyone who held a microphone or a notebook. Declaring herself above earthly laws didn't endear her to the judge, but the editors loved it. The only real question was whether she'd be declared sane enough to stand trial.

I hoped she would, but it looked like it would take months before they made their minds up about it.

Aveline's record was finally good enough to crack the glass ceiling, however. They made her Sergent and it was long overdue as far as we were concerned. She was the first woman in Kirkwall to receive the honour. I cut her picture out of the paper and framed it for her. She looked stern and thoughtful as the Commissioner congratulated her and bulbs popped.

We held a gathering in the Hanged Man for her and for Isabela, whose sudden return was so fortuitous I promptly forgot how irritated I was by her leaving in the first place. While Aveline tried to argue against being bought another round, I cornered Isabela to find out just what had happened.

"Is that really why you came back?" I asked her, "Because you didn't want Castillion to break you up with your friends?"

"What, do you expect me to declare that it was my undying love for you that drove me to defy all common sense? Honey, that boat has long sailed."

"That's not what I meant. You said Castillion was too dangerous to cross again. What changed?"

Isabela sighed, "Do you really want me to tell you?"

"Do I really want to know?"

"No. You don't." She looked down at her drink and then drained it, "Trip, you're on your way to becoming some sort of saint, and I'm just a lying, thieving snake."

I wasn't sure what to say to that; it wasn't like Isabela to be down on herself. "You're still my friend," I pointed out. "And a better one than even you expected."

She shook her head, "I met a man," she said. "An elf."

"This story is going in an unexpected direction," I said.

"Not like that, well maybe a little," she laughed. "He's a Crow; and not one of the relics they dress up for the tourists either. I've known him for a long time and we owe each other a few favours. Enough that neither of us are counting too closely."

"You asked him to kill Castillion," I said.

"No, I asked him to tell Castillion that if he didn't write off my debts I would send the Crows to kill him. He doesn't know the assassin is just a personal friend." She shrugged, "A bluff, nothing more. I don't even know if it will work."

I smiled at her, "It's to your credit that you tried. Isabela, you know you can always ask for help. I'll see this fella off myself if I have to."

Isabela glanced over at Fenris who was playing cards with the others, "Don't you have enough of other people's problems on your plate?"

I shook my head, "You'd be surprised how reluctant some people are to share."

She looked at me in surprise, "_Seriously_? It's been what, weeks? Have you tried talking to him?"

"Yes! As much as I can, anyway. He just looks guilty and clams up. What else can I do?"

"Smack some sense into him," Isabela muttered.

"I don't want to mess up again," I said.

"Well, _he_ should be worried about not messing up as well."

"He probably is."

"You two really are hopeless."

"Please don't try and do anything to help," I begged.

"All right, all right. I'll keep my hands to myself." She smiled at me, "It is good to be back. I missed you idiots. And I know you'd all be lost without me."


	50. Chantry Mother Arrested for Murder

"Trip! Something terrible's happened and I need your help to get to the bottom of it." Isabela stood with her hands on her hips, staring down at mine and Gamlen's dinner.

"I'm pretty sure I locked the front door," I said pointedly, and pointlessly; Isabela just didn't seem to _get_ locked doors as a concept.

"Never mind that now," she helped herself to one of my chops and didn't look very impressed by my attempt to not overcook it. "This is important."

Gamlen just stared, his mouth slightly open, the way he usually did whenever he was in the same room as Isabela. Isabela for her part totally ignored him, probably out of respect for me; I'd seen her put men down for less. While he wasn't looking, I stole some of his lamb to make up for Isabela's thieving.

"Couldn't it have waited until tomorrow?" I asked.

"Hello, Isabela," Gamlen finally managed to say something.

"There could be rioting, Trip." She didn't appear to have heard Gamlen.

"There's always rioting. I'm sick of having to clean up everyone's mess. Are you going to pay me for whatever it is you want me to do?"

"There's no need to be like that. Of course I will. Look, the Hanged Man's run out of booze."

I stared at her blankly. "Is that it?"

"Trip, the entire criminal community of Kirkwall is based on corn liquor. If the supply dries up, something is terribly wrong." She waved her chop around for emphasis.

"So there's another gang war brewing. Just stick to apple juice until it's over. I don't see why you have to drag me into it – in the middle of dinner no less."

"Your dinner is awful, how do you eat this stuff?"

"I'd like to see you do better."

"Ha! You're a card, Trip. Anyway, you think I haven't been doing some investigating on my own? The bootleggers don't know what's happened either; the stills in Darktown are raising their prices but they still can't meet demand. Most of the stuff's going to the speakeasies in Hightown because they pay more."

"Maker's Breath, are you saying that the entire city could be sober by the end of the week?" I put my hand to my heart and rolled my eyes in mock horror at the idea.

Isabela sighed, "Aren't you even curious about it?"

"I don't know. Mildly maybe. If you want to find out more, why not ask Merrill? Her folks are part of the supply chain, after all."

"You know, that's a great idea. This is why you're the detective, Trip." She looked at me expectantly, "Come on then."

I gave up.

"All right."

Maybe Merrill would have some of that homemade bread of hers lying about. I'd even put up with the bean paste she made to go with it.

Isabela was currently between cars, and we walked to the Alienage. I still kept my hands in my pockets, but the air didn't feel as cold as it once had. In a few more weeks, we'd start seeing signs of spring.

Merrill was home.

She knew exactly what we were talking about. "They haven't answered any of my letters recently," she said.

"You still send them letters?" I asked.

"Trip, they're my family. They're my clan. They just don't understand me, that's all. The best I can do is keep writing to them and letting them know that I'm all right. They even let me help them with their cash flow problem, so they're not that bad really."

She was so earnest, with her big green eyes and her slight frown.

Since she'd come to Kirkwall, she'd built herself a little home here in the Alienage. She had woven rugs on her floors and carved wood decorations alongside the books on her shelf. However poor and shabby the outside of her house looked, she'd created something beautiful in here.

I didn't visit as often as I probably should have, and every time I did I always told myself I'd come back more often.

"Could the roads be cut?" I offered.

"Maybe, but this is the dry season. We usually get mudslides in the spring, when the snows on Sundermount start melting."

"Well, then let's make a day of it," Isabela said, "We can pack a basket and go up to see what's really going on."

"That sounds lovely," Merrill said.

"Are you sure?" I asked her gently. "Remember what happened last time we went up there?"

"I know, Trip. But I'm getting over that. I just have to accept that they don't understand. That doesn't mean I don't love them any less. They're still important to me, and I'm strong enough to look out for them, even if they can't or won't return that."

"And we'll be there with you," Isabela added, "whatever happens."

* * *

><p>The next day dawned bright and sunny, and since I knew Fenris's days off were usually busy, as he did all his shopping and cleaning himself, I didn't try to get word to him about our excursion. Merrill had invited Varric, as I knew she would, and with Horse in the back as well, it would be a squeeze as it was, but at least the mabari wouldn't have to sit on anyone's lap this time. He'd been putting on a bit of weight lately; whenever Ma had gone shopping, she'd taken him with her if I wasn't doing anything. Gamlen was nowhere near as fond of the dog as Ma had been and wouldn't do anything more strenuous than letting him out into the yard whenever he pawed the back door.<p>

Come to think of it, a walk probably would have done Gamlen a bit of good as well.

As Merrill drove up to Sundermount, keeping an eye out for mudslides or anything similar, Varric told us all the complex underworld machinations that had been thrown into disarray by the sudden shortage of corn liquor.

"So the entire city runs on the stuff," I finally broke in, when we'd been driving for a good hour and he didn't look like he was about to slow down.

"The entire Free Marches does," Isabela said. "You can't just ask people to stop. They just find other ways."

"Like mages," I said.

"Well, sort of. There are a lot more folks who like drinking than there are mages though. Even if you swore in hundreds of police, they like to drink too. It's just human – and elven and dwarven – nature." Isabela shrugged, "There's nothing anyone can do about that. But the more they try the richer the families get."

"Well someone found a way to stop it," I pointed out.

"This is a temporary setback at best," Varric said. "They'll take over every warehouse and tenement block in Darktown to brew illegal liquor if they have to. It's just going to take a couple of months to get the equipment. You can bet bottle-blowers and barrel makers are going to be making a fortune."

The drive up Sundermount continued pleasantly and uneventfully. Eventually, we pulled into Merrill's village, and she killed the engine.

Silence descended.

"Where are the guards?" I asked.

Merrill was already getting out of the car, "I don't like this."

Varric produced Bianca from underneath the seat and we stood around for a few moments waiting for something to happen.

"Can you feel it?" Merrill asked eventually. "A sort of prickling."

Isabela and Varric shook their heads. I stretched out my hands.

"Yeah," I said, "like really faint pins and needles."

"Magic?" Varric suggested.

I shrugged. If it was, it wasn't a kind I recognised.

"Hello!" Merrill called, just an edge of panic in her voice. "Where is everyone?"

Our only answer was a loose door tapping against its frame in the brisk mountain breeze.

"Maybe they left," Isabela said.

Merrill hurried to Marethari's house, and we followed at a respectful distance. When we heard her cry out, we barged in after her.

Marethari wasn't home.

"What's wrong?" Isabela asked, looking about wildly.

Merrill turned around, and held up an object covered in long, silver strands, like spider web. It took me a few moments to realise it was a hairbrush.

"How could they be so stupid," she whispered. "Why did they do this?"

"I don't understand," I said cautiously. "Where is everyone?"

Merrill put down the brush. "I think I can find them," she said. She pushed past us, back into the sunshine, and started hurrying up the path that we'd first met her on, all those months ago.

I could feel the pins and needles in my fingers growing stronger, and I clenched and unclenched my hands.

"Is this really safe?" I asked Merrill, who powered on ahead of us, her face fixed in a determined frown, even as mud splattered on her buckled shoes and stockings.

"For a little while, it should be," she replied, none to reassuringly.

"What's going on, Trip?" Varric asked, but I could only shrug.

Part of our question was answered when we came across a large charred area, the remains of what must have been a truly massive bonfire now cold, and the ashes scattered halfway across the field.

"Did someone burn down a building?" Isabela asked, stepping forward.

"Stop!" Merrill cried. "Don't walk there. That's not a building." She held the handle of her parasol so tightly her knuckles went white. "It's a funeral pyre."

"They're all dead?" I asked. "Why? How?"

Merrill didn't answer. We kept walking.

When we arrived at the entrance to the cave, someone was waiting for us. An elf. Until Merrill shouted 'Keeper!' and flew to her side, I didn't recognise her. The long grey hair was almost all gone, and the lean elven figure was now skin and bone, her clothes hanging slack from her shoulders.

I clenched and unclenched my hands, trying to get rid of the pins and needles.

"Is there anything I can do?" I asked Merrill. She shook her head.

"Why?" she asked Marathari, who looked at her with utter exhaustion. "Why didn't you ask for my help?"

"What's done is done," the Keeper answered in a voice like someone crumpling old paper. She reached out and grasped Merrill's hand. "I'm glad you came. That you saw this."

Merrill withdrew her hand, staring at the old elf with dawning horror, "My fault again? Is that what you're saying? _You_ did this. I just…I was just trying to help."

The conversation, whatever it was about, wasn't for us. The three of us went down the hill a little way, and watched the yellowish grass wave in the breeze. No one suggested going back to the motor for the picnic basket.

"They really don't give her a break, do they?" Varric asked.

About an hour later Merrill returned to us, her eyes were dry but she looked like she'd been crying.

"Trip, can you help me?" she asked quietly. "I need to close the cave."

I didn't really know what she meant, but I got to my feet and followed her. Marethari was stretched out on the ground, what little life had been left in her finally gone.

"What-"

"It was a kindness, Trip. A kindness. Please," she applied the blade of her parasol to her arm, "help me collapse the cave. Can you use your magic to split the rock? I'll seal it."

I didn't argue. I flexed my fingers, and as I summoned my magic, the blue glow flared up over my elbows, and the pricking feeling in my hands intensified.

"What is going on here?" I asked.

"Lyrium," Merrill said, blood flowing down her arm and pooling in her hand. "Radiating lyrium. Please Trip."

I nodded, and flung my augmented power at the cave. I stretched it out further, punching it into fractures, prising stones free, my magic gnawing and worrying at the mountain. Merrill was chanting something in Dalish. I felt something begin to give.

When the tunnel collapsed, the others came running, Horse barking in surprise as dust floated out of what was once a tunnel and was now nothing but a tumbled pile of stones. Already I could feel the pricking in my fingers starting to decrease.

"As Keeper," Merrill said, her voice breaking, "I will perform the ritual for the dead. Can you chop me some wood?"

As the smoke from Marethari's pyre spiralled up into the afternoon sky, Merrill explained what had happened to her clan.

"When your brother's warehouse burned down," Merrill explained, "I had some Alianage friends of mine help me get rid of the yellowcake lyrium. I just stacked it up in my spare room. I thought about dumping it in the harbour, but it seemed like such a waste."

"When Marethari told me they were in such debt they were selling our artefacts, I offered them the yellowcake instead. There's always a good market for lyrium. But yellowcake is special. It can be refined into a form of lyrium that actively radiates power, not just contains it. This kind of lyrium is very rare and valuable, and refining it is very dangerous. I didn't think they'd be so stupid! You need proper equipment and skilled mages to refine it safely. I could have done it, if I used blood magic."

"So what happens if you don't do it safely?" I asked.

"You get lyrium poisoning, just by being around the stuff. You don't even have to touch it. Non mages just get sick and sometimes delusional, mages …mages get more powerful, but they start to lose control. Everyone who's exposed for a length of time starts losing their hair, and they don't want to eat, and they get weaker. Marathari exhausted herself trying to save the rest of the clan. I would have helped too!"

"Could you have done anything?" I asked.

"Maybe. I could have purified their blood. But until they got rid of the lyrium, it was just going to get worse."

"So where's the lyrium now?" I asked. "In the cave?"

Merrill nodded, "It's too dangerous for anyone to try and move it now. It needs to be stored in metal containers, but all they had was wood. All we can do is bury it, and hope no one ever tries to dig it up."

"I'm sorry, Merrill," Isabela said.

Merrill got to her feet, "They did this to themselves. They got greedy. I'm not going to take responsibility for their mistakes." She looked at us. "Let's go home," she said.

"Back to Kirkwall?" I suggested.

She shrugged, "Wherever the people who care about you are. That's home. Kirkwall will do for now."


	51. Victims of Qunari Violence Buried

When we got back to Merrill's car we were all starving, but no one wanted to hang around the deserted village and have a picnic. So we piled in the car, and Horse drooled all over the seats as we passed around sandwiches and bottles of soda. Merrill seemed perfectly capable of driving with her knees when necessary, although I wished she wouldn't. I did offer to peel her orange for her.

We were halfway down the mountain when we met some traffic coming the other way. Two big, shiny cars. Cars full of Templars.

"That is not good," I said quietly, as I spotted Meredith sitting next to the driver in the leading car, her blonde hair ruffled by the slipstream next to her ear.

She spotted us, too. She waved us to a halt and we obliged. She said something to her driver and got out of the car alone.

"You again." She was looking at me. It was a puzzled, thoughtful look that unnerved me more than an angry glare would have.

"Afternoon, Commander," I said, tipping my hat politely. It was hard to look dignified in a car full of cheese and baloney sandwiches and with a dog drooling one one's shoulder. On the other hand, it was a bit difficult to look like a bloodthirsty apostate under those circumstances as well.

"May I ask what you're doing up here?" she asked.

That was the question I desperately wanted to ask myself, but I knew better than to try. "We were going to visit Merrill's folks and have a picnic," I said.

"But they're all dead!" Merrill interrupted. Meredith raised her eyebrows and Merrill squeaked.

"Well they're all _gone_ at least," I said. "We didn't feel like having a picnic after that. We're going back to Kirkwall to report it."

"Ah." Meredith tried to stare me down. She should know better than to try that by now. "Well, I can take care of that. We will investigate. You know what Dalish are like; they don't hold their mages to the same standards that we do."

I could hear Merrill draw breath to say something and I got there first, "You don't think it was _magic_ do you?" I opened my eyes wide.

"I don't think anything yet. Just don't go running to the papers with any wild theories, do you understand, Mister Hawke? The Templars will take care of it."

"Right you are, Commander."

She waved us on.

We were silent until both Templar cars had disappeared around the side of the hill.

"Well," Varric said, "that was an odd coincidence, wasn't it?"

"Yeah," I said. "Merrill, what exactly is radiant lyrium used for?"

"Well it's like ordinary lyrium, only you don't need to touch it or drink it. And you only need a small amount."

"Are you certain you buried that stuff deep enough, Trip?" Isabela asked.

"Not anymore."

Varric sighed, "When I was trying to shift the yellowcake for Bartrand the first time, Meredith was offering to buy. To be honest, the Templars were the first people I contacted."

"Don't they get their lyrium supplies legally?" I asked.

"Yes, but they always want to stockpile more. Otherwise, they're always one budget cut away from withdrawals. There's no way the city council is going to cut Meredith's lyrium budget, but Meredith didn't get where she is by taking chances neither."

"So radiant lyrium would be even more useful to her."

"If she wanted a lot of bald, sick Templars."

"Well, it would only be an emergency supply. I don't think there's much we can do about it now," I said. "A few sticks of dynamite will get that cave open again."

"And my clan will have died for nothing," Merrill said.

No one had any response to that for her.

* * *

><p>When we got back to Kirkwall I followed Meredith's instructions. I had nothing I wanted to share with the papers anyway. It was unnerving enough that she now knew me by sight. I told Fenris about it but all he said was 'foolish.' Which was true, but not helpful.<p>

To my surprise, Merrill seemed to improve, as if a great burden had been lifted off her shoulders. She stopped drinking so much and started giving lessons on Dalish to the Alienage children. Eventually some of the adults started showing up too. She invited Fenris, but to no one's surprise he declined firmly. A new kind of dignity clung to her; she'd grown up.

Fenris was finally starting to run out of the money he'd been given by the Orlesian agent, and given my business could barely feed myself he point blank refused every time I tried to pay him. But it did mean he spent some time looking for employment elsewhere. Nothing much seemed to suit him for a while; he did bouncer work at the Hanged Man for a while, but after breaking someone's wrist they kindly moved him on. Varric offered him a job, but Fenris said he didn't accept charity. He eventually ended up doing manual labour at the docks, which I only found out about after Isabela visited with an invitation to come with her to watch him work shirtless in the sun.

I declined. Life was frustrating enough as it was.

Fenris was away working the day the elf came into my office. She had pointed features and expensive but plain clothes; grey tweed suit and hat, and a single string of pearls at her neck.

I asked her to take a seat and she did.

"My name is Varania," she said, with a faint accent I couldn't quite place. "I'm looking for my brother."

"And you think he's in Kirkwall," I said.

"Yes. His name's Leto."

"Okay. Why doesn't he want to see you?"

"What?" She looked startled.

"You must have reason to think putting an ad in the paper isn't going to work, if you're here. So why wouldn't he want to see you?"

"It's been a long time since we've seen each other. When he left – he left everyone behind, not just me. He doesn't know we forgive him! I'm afraid if he knows I'm here, he'll just run away again. We're not the same family he left behind. Fortune's been kind to us; we have money now, a place in society. I just want him to share some of that."

She wasn't telling the truth. Or not the whole truth at least. But then, these dames never do.

"All right, twenty-five silver a day, plus expenses. And I'm gonna need more than just a name."

She didn't have a photograph, but she described her missing brother as best she could. She said a friend of hers had seen someone who looked just like him when she'd visited the city. I thought it was an awful nice coincidence, but I didn't say anything.

"She said he had …scars," Variania said. "All over him. On his hands and face."

"Wait, what?"

"I don't know what happened to him, I almost hope she was mistaken and this whole thing is a wild goose chase."

"What sort of scars?" I asked.

"Whitish, I suppose. She only caught a glimpse of him."

"That should make him a lot easier to find. I'll be in touch."

She gave me the details of the hotel she was staying and after she was gone I stared at the ceiling for a while. It had to be Fenris. I found it hard to believe there were two fugitive elves with white scars in the city.

The point was what to do about it now? I had no doubt that Fenris would not want to see the woman claiming to be his sister. I had no particular reason to believe her story either; but if Fenris truly had family out there, he deserved to meet them.

I decided that despite the risk it was worth setting up a meeting, but I had to organise it very carefully. I wished I could discuss it with Fenris beforehand, that I didn't have to lie to him, but I could imagine the kind of mulish look he'd get on his face. If he didn't want to be involved he'd just disappear the way he always did.

I decided the Hanged Man might be the safest place. Varania did not look like the kind of dame who'd enjoy the ambiance, but it was public, I knew the area well, and if for some reason a fight broke out, it wouldn't cause too much comment. Even more helpfully, I'd let Varric and Isabela in on the whole thing beforehand, so we'd have backup if we needed it. And Fenris wasn't exactly going to be suspicious about an invitation there for drinks.

I was feeling pretty pleased with myself as I headed over to the Hanged Man to see what I could organise before Fenris dropped by after work as he usually did.

My good mood didn't last terribly long, however. I was hurrying past a side street when some inconsiderate lout clobbered me on the back of the head with what might have been a gorilla.

* * *

><p>There was a woodpecker on the back of my head. He was a very industrious woodpecker, and also very dextrous, for when he grew tired of pecking, he used sandpaper instead. Peck peck peck. Sandpaper.<p>

I quickly grew tired of this, and went to sleep.

I woke up again, and luckily my woodpecker had left me. He'd decided his work hadn't been good enough and had encased the back of my head in several pounds of concrete. It seemed a bit much to hope that I'd shift it in a hurry, so I concentrated on opening my eyes instead.

I saw motes of dust, dancing on a wooden floor. I could hear water lapping. I felt sick.

I threw up, or tried to.

Someone must have heard me retching, because footsteps echoed in my head like a snare drum. Someone poured some words down on me like sharp little pebbles, and I told them the woodpecker had left already. The footsteps receded again.

I could smell salt, and damp. There was dust on my lips, and after I'd licked them, there was dust in my mouth.

I tried to move, and discovered that my hands were bound around my back and my feet were tied together. No gag. I guess I could holler as much as I liked and it wouldn't hurt nobody but my poor concreted head. I didn't give it a try.

I was lying on a wooden floor, somewhere that was pretty dark. Maybe night had fallen. I had no idea how long I'd been out. There was a lantern somewhere nearby. Eventually the far wall came into focus; it was a long way away, which is why it took me so long to find it. I had to be in some sort of warehouse or similar.

Despite the weight, I managed to lift my head, but other than a scintillating cockroach-eye-view of the floor, there was nothing to see. Most of the room was in darkness.

I tested my bonds, but they were rope or twine, and I wouldn't be freeing myself with brute strength. I lay there collecting my wits one by one, and watching the dust motes dance every time I exhaled. Eventually the pain in my head receded to a dull throb, and the woodpecker seemed to have given up entirely.

I head footsteps again, and the shadow in front of me wavered and shrank as someone carried over the lantern.

"So this is he," a cultured voice said. I grimaced in pain as someone nudged me onto my back with a booted foot that smelled none too good. I blinked and my eyes watered in the lantern light, and I squinted, trying to see the faces of those beyond the lantern.

"I really don't understand it." It was that voice again. "What does he see in you, of all people? Well, I suppose we'll find out soon enough."

I gargled dust, and coughed, and spat. "I'm insightful," I rasped.

"Are you now?"

"Danarius, I presume?"

"Ah, you are insightful. Well, now we know who we are, perhaps we can talk, while we wait for our mutual friend to arrive."

"You realise he's going to bring some more mutual friends."

"We shall see about that, but I rather think he won't. If he does, you won't last long enough to find out."

Surely Fenris wouldn't be that stupid. Surely.

"Is Varania really his sister?" I asked.

"Oh yes. I was going to use her to try and lure him out, but he seems far more attached to you than he would be to a sister he doesn't remember."

I couldn't argue with that.

"Magister," I heard someone say, "He's here."

"Alone?"

"Yes."

"Get gumshoe on his feet."

Someone grabbed me under the arms, and given the ease at which they dragged me upright, it was probably the same man who'd thumped me to start with. I scrabbled, barely getting my feet under me, when I was dragged off them again.

"You could at least untie my legs," I said.

"I could," Danarius said calmly. But he didn't.

Now that I was upright I recognised this place. The Imperium must really be attached to this warehouse. Danarius must have guessed my train of thought.

"It's a shame what happened to Hadriana. I told her not to underestimate him, but she always did."

"So did you," I pointed out.

Danarius casually backhanded me across the ear, and my poor abused head rang and my vision swam.

"Can't we take this outside?" I suggested.

I finally got a good look a Danarius. To my surprise, he had to be at least part elf. At least, he had something of their shape to his ears, despite the neatly-trimmed beard he sported. He regarded me with eyes like chips of flint.

"I really can't see what he sees in you."


	52. Dog Saves Boy From Fire

Varania was waiting for us, with a couple of other fellas. She didn't look happy, but she didn't look like she was there under duress, either.

"Hello, sweetheart," I said, grinning horribly at her. She wouldn't meet my eyes.

Aside from the grip on the back of my collar, I was mostly ignored as Danarius talked to his subordinates. I kept my eyes on the doorway, praying that Fenris wasn't going to walk through it.

Fenris walked through it. I groaned.

"Ah, my little Fenris, predictable as always." Danarius sounded so very pleased.

"Dammit, Fenris!" I raised my voice, despite what it did to my head, "Get out of here and come back with more guns." He ignored my advice, although he met my eyes for a moment.

"Leto!" Varania took a couple of hesitant steps towards him.

Fenris looked at her, frowning. "You seem familiar. Who are you? What did you do to Trip?"

"I'm your sister, Leto. Don't you remember?"

"We played in our courtyard while mother worked," Fenris said wonderingly. Then his expression hardened. "You led him here, you led him to Trip!"

"Hardly," Danarius said. "You did, as anyone who's ever seen your distinctive face around this city can testify. Your sister merely did what any good Imperial citizen should and drew him out for us."

Fenris stalked into the warehouse, looking not at me but at the forces arrayed against him. He didn't even have his gun drawn. I stared at him, trying to imprint the words 'run away' directly into his brain. What was he thinking, coming here?

"I never wanted these filthy markings, Danarius, but I won't let you kill him to get them."

Danarius laughed, "How little you know, my pet." He strolled over to me. "So this is your new master? How the mighty have fallen. He lives in a hovel with an old man." Danarius did seem somewhat nonplussed as he regarded me.

"I am no one's master," I spat. "Fenris doesn't belong to anyone."

"You are correct about the former, but as to the latter, why; do I detect a note of jealousy?"

I bared my teeth at him. "Just pity," I said.

"Shut your mouth, Danarius," Fenris snarled, and his lyrium flared up over his hands.

"The word is 'Master'," Danarius said, with an exasperated air.

I'd had enough. One thing I was pretty sure I had on my side was the element of surprise.

I summoned my magic, and binds on my hands snapped. I drove my elbow back into the fella behind me, and I felt his grip on my collar slip. I was less worried about him than Danarius. I was already lunging forward, hurling force at the Magister, who was looking at me in sudden surprise and understanding.

No, you bastard. You didn't understand anything. I'm nothing like you.

I met magic that was frighteningly controlled, and I wondered if I'd bitten off more than I could chew. It made no difference; I doubted Danarius had been planning on keeping me alive for terribly long anyway.

I wondered were Fenris was, as magic blazed up between Danarius and me.

_Whump!_

Oh, there he was. Right next to us.

He blew away the spell like so much smoke, and Danarius vanished, reappearing on the other side of the room.

"Are you all right?" I heard Fenris ask, over the crack of someone's wrist breaking as he grabbed them.

"Feels like someone took a fire axe to my head," I said, gritting my teeth and throwing up a wall of force to deflect the roaring gouts of fire Danarius hurled in our direction. He didn't seem particularly concerned about the fate of his subordinates. I'd lost sight of Varania, but at least she wasn't throwing fireballs as well.

We didn't have time for more conversation. The guards hadn't lasted long, and Danarius was summoning up the disappointed and angry remains of all the other people who'd died in this warehouse. Fenris and I had our hands full.

I still didn't know why Fenris had come alone. I kept expecting Isabela to step out of the shadows at the very least, but it was just the two of us. And it hurt. My head was still throbbing, and the very act of doing magic was only making it worse.

Fenris hauled me out of the way when my wall of force finally cracked and we took temporary refuge behind a pile of crates. I held my head in my hands and whimpered.

"I don't think I can do this, Fenris," I said. "He's so strong." I raised my head, "But I'm not going to let him take you back. Never."

"So, you're a mage," Danarius's voice floated over us. "That does explain a lot. He needs a firm hand to guide him, does he not?"

Fenris reached into his pocket and pulled out his gun. He offered it to me, handle first. I stared at him. He pushed the gun towards me.

"Go on," he said. "I know you can do it."

"I…" I looked down at the gun and back up to him.

"He has to die, Trip!" Fenris said through gritted teeth. "Surely even you can see that. He'll never-"

I took the gun, and felt its power wash over me, dulling the pain in my head with its sheer potential.

"I'm not a murderer," I said, my voice sounding very distant in my own ears, "but I have killed people before, Fenris." I felt the unfamiliar but overwhelming sense of power ripple over me as I slid my finger over the trigger. I took a deep breath, willing myself to have control.

"Fenris kindly asked you to shut your pie hole," I said, getting to my feet. I stalked out from our hiding place, and Danarius narrowed his eyes at me, trying to work out what I was up to. Even ordinary people can see the difference when I pick up a gun, to another mage I must have been glowing.

I raised Fenris's gun and smiled.

I was a moment too slow. My force raised a cloud of dust from the brickwork behind Danarius, and timbers in the roof above us creaked alarmingly as the floorboards splintered and buckled, rippling like a rug that had just been shaken.

Danarius, however, was untouched.

I reeled under the power of my own abilities, my head swimming and when my vision cleared, I saw Danarius in a bubble of force, looking somewhat shaken by my assault at least.

"Go!" I shouted hoarsely, "and never return, or I swear to you, I'll bring the whole building down on you."

"With five shots remaining?" Danarius didn't lower his shield, "Maybe you could. Come on, give it a try. You won't stay conscious for more than three, I'd wager. It seems, my insightful friend, you have a habit of taking on more than you can handle."

He had a point.

I used both hands to steady the gun, and I pulled the trigger.

A strip of floor, about three feet wide, all but vaporised in a cloud of splinters, and I could see the dark waters of Kirwall harbour rippling beneath them. Danarius stumbled, but his shield held. I stumbled and reeled and nearly broke my nose hitting the floor, bringing my forearms up in time to break my fall. Fenris's gun hung loosely from my fingers. I couldn't hear anything but a constant ringing sound coming from somewhere between my ears.

To my horror, Fenris stepped away from the wall behind Danarius. If his old master's shield hadn't held, I would have crushed him as well as the Magister.

His markings flared, and Danarius's shield was swept away.

I let the gun fall from my nerveless fingers and propped myself up with my hands, as Fenris sunk his hand through Danarus's back and snapped something vital inside his chest. The old mage spasmed, his eyes going wide as blood flecked his lips.

He fell forward into the water at his feet, floating face down in the sea.

"You are no longer my master."

Fenris stood over him, chest heaving, his lip curled in disgust. He raised his eyes to mine and hurried past the hole in the floor, the floorboards creaking and threatening to give way with every step.

He stooped and put his gun back in his pocket before helping me to my feet.

"Made a good distraction then, didn't I?" I said.

"Don't talk," Fenris said.

As soon as I was standing, sort of, Fenris stepped away from me.

Varania stood up from where she was cowering against the wall.

"I had no choice, Leto," she said.

"Don't call me that!" Fenris said angrily.

"He was going to train me, get me a place in the Secret Service. I could have had a life like yours!"

"You sold out your own brother so you could _serve_ the Imperium?" His bloodied hand was flexing as he squeezed it into a fist and relaxed it. I walked closer. Fenris must have heard my clumsy footsteps because he glanced over his shoulder at me, "Look at him!" He snarled, "He had nothing to do with this and look at what you did," he turned back on Varania.

She stared at him, and then at the destruction I'd caused behind us.

"You had no idea what we went through, what it was like on the outside. You were given everything. Mother and I had nothing. Nothing but a cold house and empty bellies. And then after she died-" Varania choked, "the things I had to do to survive. This was my only chance."

"And now you have no chance at all," Fenris growled. His hand bunched into a fist, and his markings glowed.

"Please, no-" Varania begged.

I stepped forward and grabbed Fenris's wrist.

"Don't do this," I told him.

He tried to pull his hand free and I gripped him tighter, although I knew he could break loose if he put any real strength into it; I was nearly spent.

"Why not? You would have seen me killed, seen you killed. They, they kidnapped you, I thought you were _dead_ but I had to come in case you weren't, even though I know they were going to kill you anyway." He bowed his head.

"She's your sister-"

"What the hell does that even matter?" He'd gone from despairing back to angry again. "She's a sister I don't even remember, a sister who tried to kill me. No, this isn't about the fact that she's my sister it's about your blasted code. The sainted Trip Hawke and his clean hands," he snarled at me.

I let go of his arm.

"If you do this, Fenris," I said quietly. "I never want to see you again. I mean that. Danarius is dead. You have no more excuses. If you kill her, you are _choosing_ to be a murderer, and I want nothing more to do with you."

I turned and started walking unsteadily away.

"So now I am alone," Fenris choked.

"No," I said. "But you will be, if that's what you deserve."

When I left the room, I could hear Varania talking, her voice tearful but defiant. Some family reunion.

I was trudging up a flight of steep Darktown steps when Varania flew past me, her shoes clattering on the cold stone. She paused and our eyes met. I sagged with relief to see her alive. She caught my expression and frowned.

"What do I do now?" she asked. "What have you left me with?"

"Your life," I said. "Tell me where you're going. Someday he might want to know."

She paused for a moment, and smiled sadly, "Tantervale. Isn't that where all the hopeless dreamers go in the Free Marches? Where you can become someone else?"

I nodded, "That's what they say, anyhow."

She flew up the stairs ahead of me, while I plodded on to Anders' clinic.

* * *

><p>"Where are all your cats?" I asked, as Anders prodded at my head.<p>

"I um, well the Darktown atmosphere isn't very good for them I think. I found some new homes for them." Purrsival was still curled up in the middle of Anders' bed at least.

"Oh. Must have been hard for you."

"Yes, I was." Anders was as efficient as always, but he sounded distant and distracted.

"Did you mean what you said?" he asked lowering his hands from my head and walking around to face me. "About not helping me any more with the Underground."

"Yes, Anders, I meant it. I think you should stop too. It's getting too dangerous. Besides, Meredith knows my face now; I don't think she's going to believe I'm an innocent bystander too many more times."

"Merrill told me what happened up on Sundermount," Anders said. "Trip, please, you know how dangerous it would be if they used that yellowcake. We can't just let them get away with it."

I sighed, "They know how dangerous it would be too, and they've got an entire village full of dead elves to convince them. Meredith, for all her faults, is not stupid. She's not going to poison her own people. What good would that do?"

"I don't trust her, Trip. She's up to something."

"What are you going to do about it?" I asked.

"I don't know, but it has to be something big. Something that will finally get the attention of everyone in Kirkwall." He started pacing, "Something that no one can ignore as just a problem between Templars and mages. Too many people can just sit out and ignore the injustices that are going on in front of their noses."

"It's called the quiet life, Anders. It's quite popular for a reason."

"Well, we won't stay quiet forever. The Underground has big plans, Trip. Meredith's cruelty is only bringing the day of revolution closer." He looked at me, "I want you to be in on this, Trip. You are the mage of the future; you're an example to us all."

"I don't want to be an example," I snapped. I got to my feet, "Look, Anders, thank you for your help; my head feels much better. I have to go, I have to see someone."

"Fenris?" Anders asked shrewdly.

I nodded, "He hasn't had a very good day."

I expected Anders to be angry, but he just sat down on his bed and stroked Purrsival's head. "I don't know what you see in him," he said quietly.

"When push comes to shove," I said, "he does what's right."

"Is that what it takes?" he asked dreamily.

"Is that what _what_ takes?"

"Nothing. Good luck, Trip, you'll probably need it." He smiled at me, although it looked rather forced.

"Take care of yourself," I told him.


	53. Homegrown Squash Breaks Record

"I thought you didn't want to see me," Fenris said sullenly when he opened the door. "I suppose your unconditional support wasn't so unconditional after all. Should I be surprised?"

"Can we discuss this inside?" I asked. "If we're going to have a fight, it should be inside, not in the street."

Fenris stepped aside. "Are you all right?" he asked as I trudged in.

"Anders patched me up. I've still got a headache but I can see where I'm going." I was exhausted, and I still had other bruises that Anders hadn't treated, but I knew if I'd gone home I wouldn't have been able to sleep anyway.

I didn't want a fight, but I could feel one brewing.

"Thank you, Fenris," I said, "for not killing your sister."

"She is not my sister!" Fenris snarled, "The brother she once had no longer exists. He's dead. Danarius killed him on an operating table. All she is is one of Danarius's puppets and she deserved to die."

"She did not. No more than you do, for all the things you've done."

"So that's what you think of me, is it?"

"No, Fenris, I didn't mean it like that." I ran my fingers through my hair, feeling flakes of dried blood slough off under my fingernails.

"What did you mean?"

"I mean she was doing what she had to, just like you did what you had to." I grabbed his shoulders and looked him in the eye, "but you're better than that. You've changed, you've grown. If she gets the same chance you did, what's wrong with that?"

"We don't deserve that chance." He looked utterly wretched and confused, above all else.

"Fenris, what's wrong? I mean, aside from the obvious."

Fenris held his tattooed hands up in front of his face with a despairing look as he examined first the backs and then the palms. "I chose this, Trip. I competed for it. So I could buy my family's freedom. She told me." He dropped his hands, "And if you'd let me kill her, she wouldn't have."

"You're blaming me?"

"No. I can't blame you for anything, can I? That's just it. Everything is my fault. And you just do everything right and make me feel like an utter wretch. You self-righteous sodding hero. Varric's right about that. Where's the room for the rest of us?"

"Nothing is your fault, Fenris."

"Yes it _is_!"

"You freed your family."

"And they hated me for it. They thought I had the better end of the deal, that I'd abandoned them with nothing. I couldn't even do that right."

"You were a child; you weren't to know any of that. You can't possibly blame yourself. No, of course you do. You blame yourself, and then you do _nothing_. You run away, like you ran away from me. You still haven't told me why and it's been weeks. And I just wait, and endlessly understand even though just you being there is enough to drive me out of my mind." I shook my head, "I don't know what to do, Fenris. I don't know what you want from me."

"Nothing!"

"Really?"

He paused, as if he wasn't sure what he'd just said.

"You really don't want anything from me?" I asked. "You could have said so earlier."

"No wait, that's not. That's not fair, Trip. Why do you always wait until my past has pulled the rug out from under me before you do this?"

"No, it's not fair. We're not fair to each other at all from what I can see. But at least if you're shouting at me or punching me, you're not running away. You always walk away, Fenris. And if I chase you then am I any better than Danarius?"

We stared at each other in silence for a few moments, breathing heavily. Fenris rubbed his forehead.

"You're nothing like Danarius," Fenris muttered eventually, "don't be ridiculous."

"Then stop looking at me like I'm twisting a knife in your ribs every time I try and talk about us. I don't want to hurt you."

"I don't to want to hurt you."

"Well we're both doing a pretty poor job of it," I pointed out. "I don't want to spend the rest of my life pining, Fenris."

"Then don't. Have I ever tried to keep you?"

"No," I said. "No you haven't. I suppose I should have taken that for what it was, shouldn't I?" I just didn't want to face it. It wasn't my place to question Fenris's reasons. I'd screwed this up from the start and I couldn't see how to fix any of it.

"It's better like this," Fenris said. "For you. I'm just not …I don't think I can do this. I'm sorry."

"So we're breaking up." If there had been anything more but impractical dreams on my part in the first place. "Okay."

I nodded to myself and bit my lip. Shoulda seen it coming, really.

Fenris was frowning and shaking his head, but he didn't say anything as I turned to go. I sighed.

"I'll be okay," I told him. "If Anders can get over me, I can get over you." At least I was going to keep telling myself that. "I'll see you in Lowtown sometime," I said. "I'm sorry things didn't work out."

Sorrier than I could say.

I bowed my head and fled, just like he'd done to me. I glanced over my shoulder a couple of times as I walked down the street, but his door didn't open, and he didn't call me back. Couldn't blame him.

Fenris needed someone who would let him have his space. Wouldn't demand the way I demanded, want the way I wanted. I thought I could talk everything into being okay, but I'm no psychoanalyst. All I could do was prod him, and I was lucky he'd put up with my clumsy handling for so long.

It was Gamlen's turn to cook dinner and we ate it in silence.

* * *

><p>The next morning Fenris turned up at nine on the dot and apologised stiffly for shouting and for any hurt he may have caused. I apologised for the same. He looked utterly miserable, even though he tried to hide it when he noticed I was watching him.<p>

I wanted to tell him all was forgiven and that it was all right for him to come back. But that was a selfish impulse on my part; he wanted to be free, and the last thing I should be doing was getting in the way of that.

Emeric arrived out of uniform and with his hat pulled down low over his eyes.

"How are you fellas?" he asked tensely. He didn't look like he'd been getting a lot of sleep.

"Been worse," I told him. "What can I do for you?"

"Here." He handed me a sealed envelope. There was nothing on the outside.

"What's this?"

"Just told to give it to you, and get an answer. It's better if I don't know. Just say if you will or you won't."

That was enough to pique even Fenris's interest, and he came around and peered over my shoulder as I opened the envelope. I could smell his cigarettes.

_To the detective,_

_Rumour has it that several circle mages have been discovered living outside the Gallows. It would be in the interests of everyone to have them located and secured. Discreetly. You will be well paid._

There was no signature, but I had seen that handwriting before, on the condolence not that Orsino had sent me after Ma died. I suspect he knew I'd recognise it.

"This could be a trap," Fenris said. "It really looks like a trap."

We both looked at Emeric, who was frowning and looking uncomfortable. Eventually he sighed.

"Fine, I can guess what's in there. It's not a trap. I don't like this any more than you, but we've always had escapees. Every circle does. They're on our side, they help us with new mages, and make the walls not too thick for those inside. They trade things the Templars don't like mages to have. It's normal! It goes on in every circle, you can't control everyone and these mages act like a safety valve."

"So what's the problem?"

"They're meant to be discreet. Meredith's just looking for an excuse to bring them in, and," he shook his head, "something has gone wrong. We don't know what."

"Who's we?" Fenris asked.

"Everyone! Well, except Meredith and her close cohorts. It was just more efficient our way. Kinder. Escaping mages would come to them and they'd gently turn them back. Not this, one strike and your tranquil business."

He heaved a sigh, "Orsino's worried. We all are. We can pay. A lot if need be."

I held up my hand, "I'll look into it, no extra fee is necessary."

"Thank you," Emeric said. "We're honestly not sure who else to turn to."

I could see his point, but I wished he'd found another option anyway. He gave me another envelope with more concrete details, also handwritten, and a stack of coins before he left.

"Why did you do that?" Fenris asked. "Why'd you get involved? This feels," he spread his hands, "bad. All my instincts are saying we should not get involved."

"I know, mine too. But if I did nothing, and something terrible happened, I'd never forgive myself."

"I'm aware," Fenris said acidly. "You do realise something terrible might happen anyway, don't you?"

"Hey, I saw off the Qunari, didn't I? Maybe I'm invincible."

"Let's hope we don't have to test this theory out."

I was glad he still cared.

Our first stop was the Alienage. Orsino had suggested talking to the mage's wife, and he'd written down her name, but nothing more.

People recognised me here. Elves recognised me. I was the man who'd beaten the Arishok to a standstill. Children watched us go past, and for once they were watching me rather than Fenris. I got dirty looks and thankful ones in about equal measure, but there was a lot of fear there too. Elves don't like to see a human among them, especially one who was capable of doing what I did.

"Bloody hell, Fenris," I muttered, "I never wanted to be famous."

"It'll blow over," he said, but he didn't sound completely convinced. For all we knew, elvish mothers would be telling the story to their children for years to come.

Nyssa was a tired, worried looking woman, who didn't want to speak to us. She tried to close her door but I stuck my foot in it.

"I'm not working for Meredith," I said. I hoped I was telling the truth. "Can we please come in? This isn't a conversation for the street."

"They all know anyway," she said, opening the door again. I felt about three sizes too large for the room on the other side.

"He had a deal," she explained, "with some of the Templars. They'd let him out once or twice a month as long as he came back again. It was just to see me, nothing more. And then it stopped, and he sent me a letter saying it wasn't safe any more."

"Do you have the letter?" I asked. She found it for me, but it told me nothing more than what she'd already explained. The Templars were cracking down, and he could no longer leave; it wasn't surprising.

"Two nights ago," she continued, "he turned up on my door, excited and angry. He said he was tired of being taken for granted and ground under the Templar's heel. I tried to remind him how good some of them had been to him, but he just laughed at me." She blinked away a couple of tears, "And then we had a fight. We _never_ fight. I've put up with so much, the talking and the whispering, and the loneliness ever since he left and he shouted at me because I was worried about him."

"So where did he go?" I asked.

"I don't know. Some Templars came around earlier to ask me the same thing. They weren't as polite as you," she added quietly. She looked up at me with sudden determination, "So I'll tell you what I didn't tell them. Huon said he'd be back, tonight, and that we were going to leave. I told him this was too sudden, too soon, but he wouldn't listen to me."

"He's coming here."

"Yes. I have this feeling that something horrible is going to happen. I've never seen him in such a state. He's always been the kindest, and sweetest-" she broke off with a sob.

When we left the house Fenris looked at me, "Who should we bring?" he asked.

"Merrill," I said. "We can stay at her place until dark. Let's let Anders get his beauty sleep this time."


	54. Criminals Hide in Alienage: Mayor

Evening in the Alienage was quiet in winter. All the doors and windows were shut to keep the warm air in and the flautists and storytellers that gathered under the tree in warmer weather were plying their trade to smaller audiences indoors. I could hear tuneful piping sometimes, and the occasional wave of laughter. As the night deepened and the moon drifted over the buildings, even these noises died away.

Under the tree, a solitary woman sat wrapped in an overcoat, a scarf drawn over her head as she waited for Huon. I was freezing. We couldn't even smoke to keep ourselves warm in the alcove in which we huddled, in case that drew attention to ourselves. They were long, tedious hours, but Fenris and I were used to nights like this.

It was different now though. Although we stood shoulder to shoulder, he felt so far away.

Around midnight, we heard footsteps. Fenris and I straightened up from our cosy positions against the wall as a thin, middle-aged elf with a haunted look hurried into the square that housed the elves' precious tree. The woman looked up, and got to her feet.

"There you are," Huon said. "Come on, we have to go now." He glanced over his shoulder.

The woman backed away a few steps and shook her head.

"Dammit, come here!" He reached for her and I saw a knife gleam in his left hand.

"Look out!" I shouted, and darted out of my alcove as the woman twisted in the elf's grip. "Merrill!"

The scarf fell from her head as Merrill swung her free hand at Huon and a spark of lightning jumped from the end of her fingers. He yelped and recoiled, his hand going to his face.

Still holding the knife.

I flinched as the blade sliced through his cheek and the skin above his right ear. He seemed surprised too, but he still had an odd, glazed look in his eyes and he refused to let go of Merrill or the blade, now dripping with gore. I could see the blood starting to form a haze around his head. My magic rippled over my fingers but I wasn't sure what to do.

"No," I said quietly, when Fenris raised his gun.

Merrill knew what to do.

Without hesitation she drew her foot back and kicked him. Right where it really hurt. I flinched. Huon let go of Merrill to grab and something far more important to him, and dropped to the ground, curled up and making unhappy groaning sounds.

Merrill stepped away and looked at us, "What do we do now?"

I sighed, "Scrape him up and take him to the Gallows, I guess. We can't just let him loose in this state; he tried to kill you."

"He tried to sacrifice her," Fenris said.

Huon ceased moaning, and instead from his twitching body came a sound I couldn't recognise at first, a kind of bubbling, hoarse sound. When he staggered to his feet, his cheek gaping like a second mouth, I realised it was laughter.

"Maker's Breath," I said.

"Fine," Huon sobbed, "I didn't need her anyway. I have enough." Blood started to flow unnaturally swiftly from his face, the skin around the wound started to pucker, and swell and his voice became an incoherent screech. Magic was swirling around him, bubbling and hissing across his skin like acid.

Fenris's gun cut through the noise. It jumped in his hand as he fired, and again, at Huon. I saw the bullets bore holes in the rippling magic, but didn't seem to reach Huon himself.

"Huon! No!" We'd ordered Nyssa to stay inside her house, but the gunshots had brought her out.

The thing that may or may not be Huon turned to her, and extended his arms.

Fenris's markings flared as he flung himself between Nyssa and her husband, absorbing whatever he was flinging at her.

"It's up to us," Merrill said, scooping her parasol up from the bench she'd been sitting on.

"I know," I said, "I know."

I'd never seen an abomination before, not for real. Just stage makeup and plaster at the pictures. This was something different; I could feel the hideous life the magic had taken, rolling off him in waves.

I snapped to my senses when Fenris turned and fired his gun over his shoulder. Huon was still stumbling towards where Nyssa was cowering behind Fenris.

I gathered my magic and did my best to punch Huon off his feet; Merrill danced in behind my force, her blade glittering. I noticed she hadn't cut herself. It was too dangerous with all this other blood floating about.

Merrill yelped and scrambled out of the way as she Huon sent a gout of fire searing in her direction. A few of the leaves above us crisped under the heat. I ducked around behind him and leaped on to his back, wrapping one arm around his neck, physically pushing aside the magic that surrounded him. I hit him on the back of the head and it was like punching a rock.

Impossibly, his arms bent backwards, and I was sure I heard bones snapping as he grabbed me by an arm and my shoulder. I kicked at him, feeling an odd numbness where he touched me.

He shuddered, and I ducked as the end of Merrill's blade protruded a few inches from the back of his neck. I wrenched myself free and he crumpled with the magic seething around him. Merrill and I backed off, watching it smoulder and dissipate.

"Huon."

I nodded and Fenris stood aside to let Nyssa go to her husband.

"Are you all right?" Fenris asked me.

"Just pins and needles. Are you?"

"Yes. These markings are good for something."

"I'm sorry," I told Nyssa.

"You tried," she said hollowly. "But I don't understand it. Huon was never a powerful mage. That's why they let him out sometimes."

"Blood magic can give you a lot more power," Merrill said. "Or at least, it feels like it at first."

"If the Templars hadn't stopped him, he wouldn't have turned to blood magic in the first place!"

I couldn't argue with that. Even after shots had been fired, we all knew the chances of the police visiting the Alienage after dark were slim, unless Aveline herself was patrolling. We let Nyssa take charge of the body, Fenris and I helped move it into her house in the meantime.

"That woman knows you're a mage," Fenris pointed out, as we left.

"So does any observant elf who watched the fight with the Arishok. What would you have me do?" I asked.

"I don't know," Fenris frowned.

"Well, we can tell Orsino that Huon isn't going to be causing trouble any more," I said.

Merrill and I looked at each other. We'd just witnessed the fate that hung over us, just a shadow of a chance, every time we used magic.

"Let's go and get a drink," she suggested. "The Hanged Man will be open, right?"

I didn't feel like I was going to get to sleep much tonight, so I agreed. The three of us walked up from the Alienage to Lowtown. We didn't make it to the Hanged Man, however.

Anders was pacing up and down outside my door.

"There you are," he said, hurrying down the street to meet us. "I need your help."

"Anders-"

"No, this isn't about the underground," he said. "Although, it is about a mage."

"Evelina?" I asked warily.

Anders' jaw dropped, "How do you know about her?"

"More people know about her than you might think. Lead the way, and tell me what you know."

Anders had known about Evelina for a while. Two apostates in Darktown would run into each other sooner or later. She'd fled Fereldan like us, and had settled in Darktown to take care of the numerous children orphaned by the war. I didn't tell Anders that she quietly passed those children who turned out to be latent mages safely on to the Circle, which was the reason they let her operate without interference.

Anders often treated the children should they become sick, and early that day two of them had turned up on his doorstep, saying that Evelina was ill.

"I packed my bag and I went to see her. She wasn't bedridden, she was raging. Apparently the children had run off, probably sensing trouble, and she said she was going to tear the city apart looking for them. It didn't sound like her at all." Anders frowned, "I think the strain may have gotten too much for her. If we can restrain her and give her a sedative, she might calm down, but I didn't want to try it on my own."

"So she's not involved with the mage underground?" I asked.

"No, she's always stayed out of it, saying that looking after the children was more important, although lately she's been saying she doesn't feel anyone is safe in Kirkwall any more. She talked of leaving, but she couldn't leave the children behind, and she didn't have the money to pay for passage for them all." Anders sighed, "It's not just mages we're fighting for, Trip. At this rate, the entire city is going to come under Meredith's control."

"One thing at a time, Anders." I told him where we'd just been, and what had happened. He looked deeply unhappy.

"This is just what Meredith needs, more bad press for mages. We're lucky no one else died. The elves are known for hiding their apostates from the Circle, but something like that might have scared them all out of hiding."

Walter and Cricket weren't at Anders clinic when we arrived. Anders sighed.

"Well, these kids go where they please. I hope they've found somewhere safe. I'll show you were Evelina lives."

One dwelling in Darktown was much like another, but the walls of Evelina's house were covered in crude paintings and chalk drawings, and someone had written out the times tables on the front door as well as _Jason stinks!_ _No you do. _

"Oh dear," Merrill said sadly.

Anders knocked on the door. "Evelina!" he called, "It's me, Anders again. Are you feeling any better? Can I come in? I brought some friends to help you look for the kids."

There was silence for a while, and I wondered if we'd have to kick the door in. The door opened a pair of thin, wary looking teenagers gazed up at us.

Anders smiled at them, "Hello boys. Can I see Evelina? How is she?"

The boys flinched as they heard something behind them.

"We came back," the elder one said in an urgent whisper. "We thought it would make her happy. But she said she was going to punish us for leaving-" he broke off as someone entered the room behind him.

"Now, now, boys, you know the rules. You shouldn't talk to strangers."

Anders cleared his throat, "It's fine Evelina. I'm just here to see you."

"And what about these others? Strangers at my door. Reeking of Templar filth! I won't let them take my children!" she snarled.

The boys looked at us beseechingly. Anders stepped aside, "Run," he told them, and to my relief they did.

I couldn't see what was going on the darkened room beyond, but I heard a roaring that didn't sound like it could have come from any human throat.

"You will not take them!"

I staggered as Anders was punched back into us with a wall of force.

"She's lost it," he said through gritted teeth.

"Maker," I said, raising my fists, but He didn't answer me.

I don't want to relive what we did. There were four of us and one of her, and while her anger burned fast and bright, she directed it at walls and ceilings just as often as she did at us. Stick figure drawings, pinned to the wall, crisped and burnt, rubber balls melted into piles of goo but thankfully, when we spread out through the house afterwards, we found no children.

"Where have they all gone?" I asked Anders.

"They're Darktown kids. They have bolt holes and places to hide. Evelina was just one place available for them." He bowed his head, "The safest place. She didn't make them work for the things she gave them, didn't make them do anything. Darktown's darker without her."

"I'm almost afraid to try and find de Launcet now," I said.

"Who's de Launcet?" Anders asked, mystified.

"This is just more than lousy luck tonight, Anders. I'm on a job. Orsino knew these mages and he knew something was up." I had very little idea what else Orsino might know, and unfortunately it wasn't as simple as just calling him up and asking him.

"You're working for the Circle? The Templars?"

"I'm working for Orsino," I said sharply. "I had no intention of turning anyone in unless they were in danger. He asked for information, nothing more."

"I don't think this is a coincidence," Fenris said, having finished searching the cellar.

"I agree," I said, "which is why we need to find de Launcet sooner rather than later. He could be in real trouble."

"What will you do if you find him?" Anders asked.

"Honestly? I'd tell him to go back to the Circle. This is not a good night to be an escaped mage in Kirkwall."

"Or any sort of mage," Merrill said.

Anders scowled, "I have to go back to the clinic," he said. "If any of the kids show up I want to be there to help. I don't want to be a part of Orsino's plots."

"Anders!"

He shook his head and walked away.


	55. Dumar Stops Riot at City Hall

Anders really had the worst timing when it came to throwing his little hissy fits. I didn't have the time to chase him down and cheer him up, and I was disappointed that he hadn't realised how important it was to get to de Launcet before something else awful happened.

All we had to go on from Orsino was the address of de Launcet's parents in Hightown. It was a nice address, too, the kind anyone would be more than proud to put on their envelopes. Merrill drove us uptown and we roused the de Launcets from their slumber.

They weren't terribly happy to see us.

"Look here," Mister de Launcet senior said, his moustache trembling with indignation, "do you have any sort of authority to come banging on people's doors at all hours of the night, making demands? Emile is in the Circle, where he's supposed to be."

"I don't believe you," I said calmly. "I know for a fact that he's not in the Circle. Mister de Launcet, we are not the Templars, and for your son's sake it would best if you talked to me they find out."

He opened the door a bit wider, "Is this really necessary? My wife and I donate generously to the Circle, the Templars have always been very understanding of Emile's needs."

"People have died tonight," I said flatly. "Both of them were Circle mages out without permission. It's possible that Emile, if he is on the loose, is in danger himself."

He let us inside.

Aside from our footsteps, the only sound was the ticking of a free-standing grandfather clock in the hallway. I couldn't see anything in the entire house I could have afforded.

"Look, he came by earlier. He said he wasn't running away, he just had to get out for a while."

"How did he get out?" I asked.

"He said a Templar helped him, although he didn't say why. He asked for some money and then he left. I swear he's not here."

"But he was here," I said slowly. "Does he have a room here?"

"Well, he has his old room, but of course he never stays in it. Err, my wife keeps it made up for sentimental reasons."

"I'm sure," I said. "May I see it please?"

"If you really think it's necessary."

"I think the danger may be more widespread than it seems."

"He's obviously not here," Mister de Launcet said, throwing open the door.

"I never said he was," I said, stepping into the room and glancing around. There was nothing particularly strange about it; it was nice and tidy, and the bed was made. It didn't feel like an abandoned memorial to an absent son, however. The air wasn't stale.

Could I be wrong?

"I think your son has been very lucky," I said. "Get in contact with him, tell him he's been found out, and tell him to return to the Circle as soon as possible and to stay put for a little while."

De Launcet looked like he was going to argue and then thought better of it.

"He'll be at the Rose," he said eventually. "I'll …I just hope my wife doesn't find out. I'll go and get him."

"With luck," I told him, "you'll never hear from me again."

We trooped back outside while De Launcet went to change out of his pyjamas and rouse the chauffeur.

"Can we trust him to do as he says?" Fenris asked. "What if the same thing happens to Emile that happened to Huon and Evelina? It can't be just coincidence."

"It's not," I said. "But I don't think Emile's in the same kind of danger."

"Why not?" Fenris asked.

"By the pricking of my thumbs," I said.

"You felt it too?" Merrill asked.

"Yeah. When Huon touched me, and all through Evelina's house."

Fenris scowled, "Mages and their little secrets."

"It's the yellowcake lyrium," Merrill said. "Meredith must have dug it out. But she didn't want it for the Templars," Merrill said. "She wanted it for the mages. If you don't know what it is, and you're not prepared, it can hit you like a truck. No wonder they went over the edge."

"And Emile wasn't interested in his – he didn't even take it to the house. Which means it's probably still in the Gallows. Who knows how much more has been passed around? We need to tell Orsino," I said. "The other mages need to be warned."

"And Meredith needs to be punished," Merrill said. "This can't be legal, surely."

"He can try and connect the lyrium to her, but I'll bet she's covered her tracks well, and I'm not going to start searching the Gallows for evidence, with or without Orsino's permission."

"This war is getting dirty," Fenris observed.

* * *

><p>There was no way to contact Orsino quietly. Emeric wasn't there and we had to kick up a fuss at the Gallow's gates for half an hour before someone actually let us in the see the First Enchanter, who managed to look dignified even at three in the morning. When we explained the situation, he told us go home.<p>

"Get some sleep, and be at City Hall tomorrow morning. I don't know exactly what I might need you for, but I want you to keep any eye on," he paused, "things. I don't know what's going to happen, but Meredith has gone too far this time. This is entrapment. This is murder."

"You might have trouble convincing a judge to see it that way," I observed.

"I'm not going to let Dumar sweep this under the rug for the sake of peace."

Despite the lack of notice, Isabella, Varric and Anders got themselves up early and accompanied us to Hightown. Aveline was there too, in uniform, and we didn't distract her.

"I think you're about to see some real progress, Anders," I said. "Meredith's slipped up this time."

"I can't believe she nearly got away with it," he said. "And to think I doubted Evelina. This wasn't her fault at all; it was some bloody Templar she thought was doing her a favour."

We weren't the only ones there. Somehow word had got out that something interesting was going to happen and the reporters were there with their cameras, and the sight of them drew a curious crowd that grew larger as the clock tower above city hall chimed first nine and then nine-thirty.

"Do you think Orsino's already in there?" Isabela asked.

I nodded, "He'd want to get in there before Meredith even knew he was gone. He probably got them out of bed."

"Snuck out before Meredith woke up," Varric said, amused.

Things started happening about nine-thirty, when two Templar vehicles pulled up just short of the crowd so abruptly people still jumped out of their way. Meredith emerged, her uniform immaculate as always. She was tight lipped with fury, and the crowd parted silently as she strode up the stairs to City Hall, a couple of Templars in tow. I pulled my hat down low over my face; I didn't want her to see it right now. She didn't appear to pay any attention to the crowd, however.

We got another half an hour of peace, and while some people went away bored, the crowd still grew and the newspaper men jostled for good positions. Aveline nodded to us as she strolled through the crowd, keeping it calm. Every time someone left the building, the crowd craned its necks and then subsided with disappointment as a clerk or petitioner stepped wide-eyed into the throng.

The clock tower was striking ten when the Templars held the door for Orsino and Meredith. Meredith was blank-faced, Orsino looked determined. He stopped at the top of the stairs, and flashbulbs popped. Meredith paused.

"People of Kirkwall and gentlemen of the press, I'm glad you could make it," Orsino began.

Meredith practically flew back up the stairs. "Who said you were authorised to give a press conference?" she hissed. "If you insist on pursuing this investigation, then it must be treated confidentially."

"Nonsense, Meredith," Orsino said loudly. "This is a matter of public safety. Every man, woman and child in Kirkwall must be protected from this dangerous substance."

The crowd murmured excitedly as the reporters kept scribbling.

"Or don't you agree, Commander?" Orsino asked.

Meredith shut her mouth with a snap, regarding the assembled crowd with cold eyes. They narrowed slightly when she recognised our group. We should have dispersed to draw less attention, I realised. Too late now.

"Very well," Meredith said. "Give your public health warning."

Orsino gave a clear, concise description of the yellowcake, and some dire warnings as to what might happen if you came in contact with it.

"This substance is especially dangerous for mages."

"Who are, of course," Meredith interrupted, "already dangerous to start with. A mage in contact with this substance becomes mentally unstable and may become an abomination."

"The irresponsibility of targeting mages in the community-"

"There _are_ no mages in the community! Or there shouldn't be, for their own good and for our own good. This sort of situation is exactly why the Templars are here, to protect you – citizens and mages alike."

"It is clear then that you distinguish mages from citizens."

"You said yourself the situation is potentially lethal, you can't have it both ways."

"Neither can you!" Orsino was starting to lose his temper. "Where did this yellowcake come from? Who has access to almost all the lyrium in this entire city?"

"First Enchanter, you are free as always to exercise your right to debate, but if you're going to make baseless accusations on the steps of city hall I must ask you to stop."

"And what are you going to do? Drag me off in irons? Show the city just how you treat mages?"

I could feel Anders beside me, ever muscle tense with anger and anticipation as he watched the debate.

"Fight her," he murmured, "fight her!"

"I'm merely trying to prevent you from making a fool of yourself."

"No. Your Templars supplied mages with the yellowcake and the city deserves to know why. How far up the chain does this go?"

The crowd was moving closer, and Aveline and her colleagues were working to keep everyone from crowding up the steps. The reporters kept scribbling.

"Commander, are you denying all knowledge of the yellowcake?" one of the reporters called.

Meredith ignored him for a moment, and sought my eyes in the crowd.

"Yes," she said slowly. "Completely."

"We have a witness-" Orsino began and he was drowned out by the sudden clamour of questions. I knew he meant Emile, but I sensed Meredith's eyes on me again.

"This injustice has gone on long enough! Mages and soon the whole city live in fear of the Templars. How much power are you going to be allowed to amass?" Orsino raised his voice again.

"I have no more power than that invested in my by the law," Meredith retorted. "And until you have some solid evidence of wrongdoing, I would suggest you learn to accept that."

We stumbled as the crowd started pushing and shoving. No one seemed to be taking any particular side in the argument, but the people of Kirkwall loved an excuse to cause trouble.

"Enough!"

That was Aveline. Behind her, the doors of city hall opened again, and Dumar stepped out. The crowd subsided as the cameras flashed again.

"Commander, First Enchanter!" Dumar said, "This is not fitting behaviour for either of you. Kirkwall is my responsibility. I assure you, Orsino that a full enquiry into the source of the yellowcake will be conducted and the results will be publicly tabled. In the meantime, everyone will calm down and return to their homes and their businesses. First Enchanter, I will not have you inciting a riot outside my offices. If you have any formal complaints to make, I will hear all of them. In private. Let us behave in a civilised manner."

Orsino looked like he was going to argue again and thought better of it.

"Meredith," Dumar continued, "you will allow the police full access to the Gallows and a thorough search will be conducted this very afternoon."

Meredith nodded, "As you say, Mayor."

"This press conference is over."

* * *

><p>"They didn't find anything," Varric said, reading the evening edition of the Post.<p>

"Of course they didn't!" Anders said, nearly knocking his drink over as he gestured. "Dumar knew they weren't going to find anything. That's why he let them do it. Meredith would have had all that stuff well hidden off-site before the press conference. We could have had her!"

"The investigation's not over," I pointed out.

"It might as well be," Anders snarled. "Dumar's too scared of Meredith to find anything against her. Emile will be discredited or at best one or two Templars will be punished and things go on as before. Orsino had his chance and he blew it."

"He did his best, I thought," Isabela said. "What else could he have done?"

"He shouldn't have given in. He should have told everyone everything. But of course he didn't. He sees the injustice of Meredith but not the injustice of the Circle."

"The Circle suits some people, Anders," I said. "He knew about Huon and Evelina. It's not watertight and it's not meant to be. It's only when Meredith tries to make it watertight that things start going wrong."

"Well, nothing's going to change at this rate. City Hall's just going to keep hushing it up and telling everybody that everything's okay. People need to wake up. Someone has to do something."

"Like what, Blondie?"

Anders hung his head, "Something no one can ignore. I…I've had too much to drink. I'm going home."

"I think that would be for the best," Isabela said. "No point in it if you're not having a good time."


	56. Police Evacuate City Hall

The next morning Fenris arrived carrying a large cardboard box. Horse was very interested, clumping over as soon as Fenris had got in the door and looking up at him expectedly.

"What have you got in there?" I asked.

"More to the point what have you got?" Fenris asked. "I found it at the bottom of your steps."

"Maker's Breath it's not a baby, is it?" I got to my feet and opened the top.

There was a cat inside. A black and white cat. It blinked up at us and then hopped out of the box, much to Horse's delight. I grabbed it before the mabari could introduce himself properly.

"Why would someone give me a cat?" I asked.

"Maybe Anders didn't hear you clearly the first time," Fenris suggested.

I frowned.

"You know, I think this _is_ one of Anders' cats." I thought back to the times I'd visited him. "This is Purrsival," I said. "He's given all the others away. Why would he give away Purrsival?"

"Search me," Fenris said, stealing my paper now my hands were full of cat. "Anything new?"

"No. Look, we have to give it back. I can't keep a cat." I raised my eyebrows at Fenris. He shook his head sharply.

We put Purrsival back in his box and went down to Darktown. The clinic was closed.

"Hmm." I cupped my eyes and peered through the window. "Pretty dark in there."

"The front door's open," Fenris said.

"That's odd. He normally locks up tight to prevent people from stealing his medical supplies." We put Purrsival down, and he immediately made himself at home, wandering off happily. We followed a bit more cautiously.

Anders wasn't in.

In fact, the place was empty. The cupboards were almost bare of both food and medical supplies.

"Maybe he's gone for good?" Fenris suggested, without a trace of disappointment, "Just got sick of Kirkwall and left."

"Then why didn't he at least say goodbye? Or ask us to come with him?" I opened the back door and recoiled. "Yeesh, it stinks out here. What in the world was he doing?"

There were a few empty containers scattered about and various substances spilled on the floor.

"Smells like rotten eggs," I said, picking my way through the mess. "And something worse."

Fenris followed, his eyes narrowed in suspicion.

"I think I know what this is," he said. "I know what he was up to."

* * *

><p>"Varric!"<p>

"Morning fellas-"

"I need to use your telephone. Fenris, fill him in while I call Aveline."

"I'm sorry, can I take a message?" Ever since the Qunari left, it was getting more and more difficult to get hold of Aveline when she was at work. Eventually I had no choice but to give her secretary Varric's extension and hope for the best.

"Where is he?" Varric asked.

"I don't know. Any ideas, Fenris?"

"The Gallows maybe?"

I shook my head, "Too many mages in there."

Fenris and I looked at each other.

"City Hall," we said in unison.

"Varric, stay here in case Aveline calls back."

"What are you going to do?" he asked.

I looked at him, "I have no idea, but we can't afford to waste any time." I still had trouble believing Anders was really doing this. What in the world could have gotten into him? I ran through our most recent conversations in my head, wondering if I could have said or done something to prevent what appeared to be happening.

"I just hope he comes to his senses before he lights the fuse," I said, as Fenris and I jogged to the nearest tram stop.

"I wouldn't bet on it," Fenris said.

The tram journey was agonisingly slow. I cursed under my breath every time it stopped to let people on or off as we slowly climbed our way up to Hightown. I kept my eyes on the horizon, watching for smoke.

Both the horizon and City Hall were still intact when we jumped down off the tram at the central stop. I wondered if we were wrong. Maybe Anders was doing something else.

"There!" Fenris pointed.

Anders was standing on a wooden box, waving some more of his pamphlets, and alternately pleading with and berating the group of amused onlookers that was slowly gathering. I breathed a sigh of relief.

"Well, he's not hurting anyone with those," I said.

Still, it would be best to calm him down and find out what he was really up to, and Fenris and I strode across the broad concreted square towards Anders' soapbox. When he saw us Anders went as white as a sheet.

"No," he shook his head, "not you. You have to get out of here. Just go. Don't ask questions, you'll find out later. Please."

"He's already lit it," Fenris said, "Trip!"

I didn't stop; I shouldered my way through the crowd, my teeth bared.

"Dammit, Anders," I growled.

I stepped up onto the box and drove my fist into his midsection, completely unassisted by magic. I heard the air leave his lungs with a 'whoosh' and he crumpled. I ignored him.

"Get him somewhere safe," I said over my shoulder to Fenris. And then I started to run.

"Like hell I will!" Fenris took off after me without hesitation.

"Stay back," I shouted. "It's dangerous."

He lengthened his stride and caught up with me as we pelted across the town square.

"If you're going to die, you won't do it alone," he said.

I saved my breath and didn't argue.

We burst in the front door, ignoring the doorman trying to slow us down.

"Get out!" I hollered, "There's a bomb!"

Heads lifted from desks and the policeman standing near the head of the queue started walking over.

Fenris drew his gun and I jumped as he fired it at the ceiling. "Move!" he shouted. We split up, mostly to avoid the policeman. Now people were getting to their feet as we raised all the hell we could. It was going to take minutes for the news to travel up the floors.

"You're not supposed to go-" I vaulted over the tall wooden counter and fought against the stream of clerks and typists hauling their coats and bags towards the front door. Fenris was still waving his gun at people but hadn't fired again.

I grabbed someone by the collar. "Back rooms; storage. Where are they?" He pointed and I let him go, giving him a shove in the direction of the door.

"Trip!" Fenris yelled, "We have to get out. They've got the message."

"Then go!" I said, putting my foot to a door. I thought I could smell something burning.

He must have used a delivery entrance. Maker knew how he'd managed it; maybe he'd had help from his Underground friends. The fuse had been quietly hissing away, for the best part of half an hour by my guess, and the floor of the storage room was criss-crossed with lines of ash. I kicked the door in just in time to watch the last of it burn away.

I didn't think, I acted. I flung my hands out and wrapped the dark, pungent barrels in a mantle of compressing force. And then the gunpowder ignited. It tore through my reserves instantly and my knees buckled. I hit the floor like a sack of potatoes, my mind screaming as I felt the overwhelming force of the explosion meet my own. I don't know how I held on. I saw, slowly, one of the barrels begin to buckle and break, nothing behind the splintering wood but a searing light as bright as the sun. I watched helplessly as splinters peeled themselves away from the bending and breaking slats. There was a strange roaring sound in my ears, and I had the odd sensation that my fingernails were going to just drop off the ends of my fingers.

It didn't hurt.

My consciousness was stretched, thinner and thinner as my reserves were torn out of me as I tried to maintain the downwards force. I couldn't do this. I could feel my grasp slipping, I could see the barrels slowly swelling, tumbling from their little pile, the heat singing my hair and toasting my fingers.

I wasn't strong enough. There wasn't enough of me.

_But there could be so much more_.

I wouldn't. Even this, it wasn't worth it. An abomination is a fate worse than death.

_Would it be an abomination? I have my mind. I have control._

No. I wouldn't. I can't see. Is it black, or did I go blind? Maybe my eyes are just shut against the glare. I can't remember how to open them.

_Fenris is still here_.

Oh Maker, I have to save him. I'm so sorry, Father.

I stretched out.

I snatched myself back.

It was like someone was pouring water down my throat – no, it wasn't water. It was lyrium. Cool and clear and cold. Like I was drinking an endless potion. I let it pour through me, shaping it from raw, sparkling power into my ball of force, pushing down against the igniting gunpowder, holding it in place. It felt endless. It was exhausting, but it didn't stop. I didn't stop.

Eventually, I remembered how to open my eyes.

I saw a shimmering silver sky. I thought it was beautiful. It glowed blue. I blinked.

Focused.

It hurt to focus.

I found Fenris.

His hand was under my head and his lips were pressed down on mine. His face was contorted in a rictus of pain, and every sizzling line on his skin was lit up, electrified, as he drew out his lyrium reserves and poured them into me.

How many grains of gunpowder were there in three barrels?

I think I counted to about twelve hundred before I fell asleep.

* * *

><p>I woke up feeling hot and flat, like a coin left on a railway track. Despite this I was pretty comfortable. I was in a bed. It wasn't mine. It was nice though. I hoped I'd never have to leave. I wondered what time it was. I wondered what day it was. There was something on my head and for a moment I was convinced it was an octopus.<p>

I ordered my hand to investigate and to my surprise, it did. I picked up a damp cloth and looked at it; not an octopus after all. It didn't seem to have any special significance. Varric's initials weren't embroidered on the corner.

Varric. I'd seen him recently about something important. It might still be important. I couldn't lie around in bed all day. If it was daytime. Find a clock first, and then worry about the calendar, I decided.

I sat up, and my blood swirled around in my head as I remembered what I'd been doing.

This was Fenris's room.

I deduced this mainly because Fenris himself had dragged a chair over next to the bed and was sitting in it, fast asleep. He had both a bowl and a pitcher of water next to him and a lamp was burning on the bedside table. I dropped the cloth back into the former. He looked oddly peaceful. I'd never seen him asleep before, I realised. With his face relaxed like that he looked a lot younger.

He made my heart ache.

I heaved a sigh. If he was still asleep, it was probably still dark outside.

He must have heard me, for he opened his eyes.

"Mm. Trip? You're awake?"

"Yeah."

He blinked a few times and brought his gaze into focus. "I thought you were dying. I thought you'd never wake up. Even Danarius never needed that much power."

Oh yes, I remembered. He'd kissed me.

"Is that what Danarius did?" I asked, horrified.

Fenris shook his head, "No. I was giving that to you. Danaruis just used to reach out and take it. Peel it off."

"It looked like it hurt."

"It does. Every time. Do you want a drink?"

"Please."

I drank straight from the lip of the pitcher, and I downed about half the water inside before handing it back.

"I nearly gave in," I confessed. I had to tell someone, now I remembered. "I wasn't strong enough to do it by myself, but if I didn't you would be caught in the blast. I gave in, Fenris, just for a moment but-"

"Nobody's perfect," Fenris said.

I smiled at him, "Ain't that the truth."

We sat in silence for a while.

"Fenris, why did you follow me into City Hall? You must have known it was the worst idea I've had all year."

Fenris heaved a sigh and looked at his hands for a while. "I couldn't bear the thought of living without you," he said finally. He glanced up at me quickly and then back down again. "I've been such a fool. You're not much better you must admit, but I, I knew what I had and I threw it away."

"Why? Why did you keep running away from me?"

"I wanted you to hate me. I wanted you to see me for what I am; hopeless. It would be better that way, I thought. If I admitted it, I'd just get hurt. You'd just get hurt when I screwed up. It was only a matter of time."

"You said your memories came back."

He shifted in his chair, "It wasn't quite like that. I couldn't remember things, just a feeling. A feeling of someone else being there with me. It scared me and I was a coward." He shrugged. "So I ran. And kept running. It was easier to fight you than to explain it, or so I thought. But then you were running off apparently intent on killing yourself and that was worse." He looked at me, "There you have it." He seemed to be waiting for something.

"Say it, Fenris," I said. "Get it out there, you'll feel better for it."

"Will you forgive me? Will you have me back?"

I grinned at him, "Yeah, of course I will."

I reached out and took his hand, and we glanced at each other in shock. I'd stripped myself of my magic, and he'd drained his lyrium. The lines on his hand might as well have been paint; all I felt was warm, slightly calloused skin.

And overwhelming joy of course.


	57. Bomb Plot Fizzles: Suspect Arrested

I rubbed my thumb along one of the lyrium lines on the back of his hand, but still felt no reaction.

"Huh. That's really something."

Fenris shook his head, "It's not really that important."

I pulled gently on his hand and the rest of him followed as he leaned forward out of the chair and for the second time in his life, Fenris kissed me. He was cautious about it for a couple of heartbeats and then he wound his fingers through my hair and I felt his teeth behind his lips and he stole my breath.

"Are you all right?" he asked when we broke apart. He had one knee on the bed.

"Of course I am," I said with a grin. "I had a nice long sleep and I'm right as rain." My smile dropped, "There's no rush, Fenris."

He drew back slightly and frowned, "You could be hit by a tram tomorrow."

I wasn't gonna argue with that.

There was still a lamp on in the corner and Fenris didn't turn it off as he straightened up and started taking off his suit. His movements weren't hurried, he didn't fumble any buttons, but they were fast and economical. He hung his coat up in the closet, and he put his shoes under the bed. I realised absently that most of my clothes were folded neatly on the table, but I was really paying more attention to other things.

Like the lines that ran down his sides, the suggestion of ribs that showed through his skin when he turned to throw his shirt over a chair, the scar on his stomach that looked like a bullet wound, and, Maker can you blame me for not tearing my eyes away, only his head was silver.

He stood there for a few moments, letting me stare at him. Then he smiled, stepped forward and pulled the blankets off me.

"Hey," I laughed at the sudden chill as I lifted my hips and stripped off the pants I was still wearing. Fenris frowned as I tossed them over the edge of the bed.

"You always make such a mess," he said.

"Always? We've only done this once before," I pointed out. I opened my arms and he crawled into them, and we shuffled around and made room for knees and elbows and pressed grinned kisses onto each other's shoulders and neck and I palmed his hipbone and he scraped his teeth against my stubble.

"You're not going to leave again are you?" I asked, unable to help sounding plaintive.

"Why would I leave?" Fenris asked with a gentle smile. "This is my house, as you've pointed out before. If I get sick of you I'll just kick you out instead."

"Ha!" I rolled us both over until I was on top of him. "You can try."

"Maybe later," he said.

He looked tired, but he refused to countenance going to sleep; he was looking at me as much as I was looking at him, touching childhood scars, rubbing the hair on my chest, squeezing my shoulders as if he couldn't believe how broad they were. We introduced ourselves, freckle by freckle - well I did, Fenris didn't have any; I know because I checked pretty closely.

And I held my breath and stuck my tongue out and he laughed at the face I pulled and I just told myself not to think about it and just did it and his head lolled back and he grabbed my ears and I put my hands on his hips and he made this noise. Can't really describe it. And then his breath hitched and he made it again, and I managed a sort of grin and spit ran down to my jaw so I stopped.

Grinning that is. Everything else I refused to stop as his hands butterflied above my head, and his toes wrinkled the sheet. He shouted something unintelligible and I gagged and rolled off him, coughing and spluttering and wiping my mouth.

"Was it really that bad?" he asked, still breathless, looking at me with big, worried eyes.

I had to laugh.

"It was worth it, I assure you." I crawled up until we were nose to nose again. "I might even give it another go sometime," I breathed into his ear and he shivered.

"If you, uh, really don't mind."

"Give it a go yourself if you're so worried," I invited.

He regarded me dubiously. "Where did you learn that anyway?" he asked. "No, on second thoughts, I'm sorry I asked."

"Don't be," I told him, "Don't be sorry about anything."

I wasn't sorry. I wasn't sorry when he rolled on top of me and played - curiously at first, and then with delight and a wicked smile that showed his teeth. And time passed and we fell asleep tangled up in the blankets and I woke up tangled in the blankets.

And Fenris was still there, sleeping like a baby. I could feel the lyrium buzzing against my right side; our reserves were recharging. I edged the blanket out sort of flat, covering him, and I draped an arm over his shoulder and dozed again. He woke up next because a sound jolted me from a light sleep and I caught him watching me.

I grinned at him. He smiled.

We were getting tangled up again when I heard footsteps coming down the hall and Varric threw the door open.

"Dammit, Elf! If he's not awake by now we need to-"

Fenris made a sort of choked noise.

"Varric! Get out!" I hollered at him.

"Well, I'm glad you're feeling better." Varric said as he stepped back into the hall and smartly shut the door.

I raised my voice, "If I read about this in one of your Falcon stories-"

"Relax, Hero. I don't think the world is quite yet ready."

"Where are you going?" I asked, as Fenris started struggling with me and the blankets.

"We can't stay here!" he hissed. "He's going to tell everyone."

"So?"

He stopped. "Well, isn't that a bit personal?"

"We're not a secret, Fenris."

He frowned and looked uncertain, "Be that as it may. We have to get up."

I sighed, "I suppose we do. I presume Anders is in the Gallows by now?" I'd been avoiding thinking about that.

"No," Fenris shook his head. "Aveline got to him first and arrested him, which is more than he deserved. I dragged you out and hid us here; too many people were asking questions about what we did in City Hall." Fenris rubbed the back of his neck, "They're going to figure it out, Trip. That was one too many miracles. And Meredith is going to love making an example of you."

"She can try," I said, throwing off the blankets. Fenris was right; we had more important things to do right now. His dire warnings weren't really having their designed effect, however; I still felt about a hundred feet tall, and capable of fighting a whole army of Templars.

We took turns showering and Varric had kindly brought over a few of my clothes and a razor and Horse, who had apparently missed me terribly. Fenris kept watching me as I shaved out of the corner of his eye. When we got downstairs we were greeted with the smell of hot coffee and fresh bread. While Varric had made his bakery run, Aveline had arrived and she sagged with relief to see I was up and about again.

"You never know when to quit, do you?" she asked.

"Well, neither do you," I grinned, helping myself to some coffee as Fenris retrieved butter and marmalade for the bread rolls. I was starving. "So what's this about Anders in jail anyway?"

"It was the only thing I could think of to keep the Templars off him," Aveline said. "They'll get him eventually of course; our questioning won't go on forever, and there's enough circumstantial evidence for the Templars to take him in now."

"How much time do we have?" I asked.

Aveline looked at her watch. "The office opens at nine. I've told the men on the desk to stall, but they won't hold Meredith off for long. Maybe an hour."

"Hero," Varric said. "Maybe it's for the best. He did try to blow up City Hall."

"And he failed," I said. "All he actually did was shouting in the town square. Look, for all we know the yellowcake got to him too somehow. We all know he's not going to get a fair hearing one way or the other." Fenris handed me a bread roll and I took it. "Look, I just want to talk to him."

We looked at Aveline. She sighed.

"I'll see what I can do," she said. "No promises. Meet me at the vehicle entrance to the station in about half an hour."

As soon as she was gone I turned to Varric, "We need Isabela."

* * *

><p>Anders looked awful. Aveline had managed to keep the Templars at bay so far, but the cops hadn't been too kind to the man who may or may not have tried to explode the civic centre of our city. Anders was curled up on a cot in a cell, still in the same clothes he'd been wearing yesterday.<p>

"Anders," I said gently. "Anders, wake up."

He did so, and shot a horrified glance over his shoulder. He moaned. He had a black eye and there was dried blood on his collar. There was no sign of his glasses.

"You're alive. When I saw Fenris carrying you out I thought-" he got to his feet and took a couple of faltering steps towards the barred iron door before shrinking away again. "No, you shouldn't be here. Meredith will be after you. Please just leave me. I don't deserve forgiveness."

"Well, that remains to be seen. But regardless of that, I'm not letting Meredith take you. Isabela, get him out of there." I stepped aside and let Isabela get to work.

Aveline didn't.

"Just what do you think you're doing?" she demanded, grabbing Isabela's arm.

"A jailbreak of course," I said with a grin. "Come on, Aveline, you wouldn't have gone to all this effort to rescue him already if you didn't want us to do something. Should we hit you to make it more realistic?"

Aveline's jaw dropped for a moment and then she shut it with a snap. "No, I'll just tell them you pulled guns. But I will raise the alarm as soon as you're out the door." She glanced at Anders, who was just looking utterly bemused by the whole thing, "Keep an eye on him. As far as I'm concerned, he's still under arrest, you got me?"

I nodded.

Isabela got the door open without any trouble, but that was the easy bit. I made Anders take off his distinctive white coat and put mine on instead. He complied without speaking, and let himself be led around as we liked. Aveline watched us go, and when we were out of line of sight, I heard her start to run. Someday, I vowed, I'd try and tell her how much her faith in me meant.

"Should we steal a car?" Isabela asked, as we surprised a couple of mechanics working on one of the cars in the area out the back.

I shook my head. "Too obvious."

Fenris waved his gun at the men and they raised their hands. Isabela danced in and tied them, smiling wickedly the entire time.

"We're not going far," I added as we slowed to a walk and tried to look casual as we exited onto the street. Anders pulled his hat down as we all saw the Templar cars out the front.

"Aveline is going to get shouted at," Fenris observed quietly.

"I think we should run," Isabela said. And so we did.

* * *

><p>We installed Anders in Fenris's basement. As much as I didn't enjoy it, Aveline was right; he needed to be watched, at least for now, and the door had a lock. It wouldn't stop him if he decided to use Justice on us, but he just looked burnt out. I doubted he felt capable of lighting a candle. Varric had been joined by Merrill and had filled her in on the details while he kept watch on Fenris's house. No one expressed any desire to be anywhere else.<p>

We showed Anders to the basement and then Varric made him some coffee and Anders stared at it like he'd never seen a cup before.

I glanced at the others, "I've got this. Leave us for a while."

They filed out and shut the door behind them. I suspected Fenris at least wouldn't go far, but I wanted to talk to Anders mage to mage.

Anders had the only chair in the room, and I sat on a rather singed footstool that Fenris had probably removed from the living room.

"Why are you doing all of this?" Anders asked.

I shook my head, "Oh no, you're answering the questions first."

"I didn't mean for you to get hurt! You weren't even supposed to be there."

"What about all those other people, Anders? They weren't Templars, they were just people. Just file clerks and city auditors and janitors and police. And you were going to kill them!"

"It was the only way. Justice-"

"Yeah, about Justice." I spread my hands, "Where is he? I've got a bone to pick with that son of a bitch and you've still got one good eye."

"He's gone."

"Gone? What do you mean gone? In the sense that he was never there at all perhaps?"

"Justice was not me! That was the whole point. I put up with so much. I just wanted to be happy, to help people. But the Circle made me so angry, I just packed it away to protect myself. If you got angry they punished you, or worse, made you tranquil. But if you misbehaved and were funny, they just laughed. Ha ha. It's just Anders, clowning around. How many escape attempts this year, Anders? We'll just give you a beating and let you get back to it. Poor harmless Anders." He clenched his fists, "But sometimes it was too much. If I hadn't made Justice Justice, he would have been Rage instead. I told myself I wasn't angry, just righteous. And I stayed sane. Well, I thought I had."

He gave me a sickly grin.

"For what it's worth, I'm sorry," he continued. "I'm glad you managed to stop the explosion. But I've failed. Orsino tried to use the law to get Meredith and he failed. I just felt I had to do something – anything – to wake people up!"

"Well, they might be awake now."

"What are you going to do with me?" Anders asked.

"I honestly don't know. I think I need to talk to Orsino."


	58. Jailbreak! Mage Involvement Suspected

I left Anders to meditate on his actions and rejoined everyone in the kitchen. Fenris barely kept enough food in his house to feed himself, and it was obvious we'd need some more supplies. We were discussing where to go to lunch like normal people when we heard the front door open and close.

Varric went for Bianca, Merrill picked up her parasol and Fenris and I flattened ourselves on either side of the doorway.

Varric relaxed when he saw who was making the floorboards creak.

"Aveline," he said. "I think we need a secret knock or something."

"Why are you here anyway?" Isabela asked, helping herself to the last apple in the fruit bowl. "I'd have thought they'd have you tearing up Kirkwall looking for Anders."

Aveline opened her mouth and then shut it again, and then she leaned against the wall, and I'd not seen her looking as defeated and haggard as she did since she had leave her husband's body behind in Fereldan.

"They took my badge," she said quietly. "Meredith ordered it. They tried to argue with her for a bit; I was actually touched. She's practically moved in to headquarters; coordinating the search, she said. We don't even officially know Anders is a mage."

"I'm so sorry, Aveline," I said.

"It was my decision to help," she said. "I didn't want to see what Meredith would do once she had her hands on Anders either, I admit it."

"So what do we do now?" Fenris asked.

I found myself the focus of several expectant gazes, only Varric was thoughtfully removing a tiny smudge from Bianca's barrel with the cuff of his shirt.

"Well we still need something to eat," I said, trying to lighten the mood. "We'll have some lunch and then I'll go and see Orsino. The good news about Meredith being in Hightown is that she's not at the Gallows." I had a secondary reason to go there; if I could, I'd have to try and find Carver. I was feeling less and less confident about staying in Kirkwall long-term, and whether I ended up on the road or dead, or worse, I wanted to say goodbye to my little brother.

"Why is it every time things look bad you have to go to the Gallows?" Merrill asked.

"Just be careful," Aveline said. "You and Fenris are both Persons of Interest as they say, and Isabela has been one for as long as she's been in Kirkwall. I imagine the rest of you have been added to the list as well. We don't want to draw any attention."

"That means it's time for disguises," Isabela said with glee. "You go and get some lunch, and leave the rest to me. Buy me something to eat too; I'll have anything."

Aveline snorted, "No kidding."

* * *

><p>There were no fancy suits or hats for us this time. I'm not sure where Isabela unearthed the clothes she found for her, Fenris and me, but I suspect she may have bought them off a rubbish collector. At least, that's what they smelled like.<p>

When we arrived at the Gallows, we let Isabela do the talking; there was an outside chance I might be recognised. I'm not sure what story she spun, but soon enough Emeric came out to greet us.

"What are you doing here?" he asked, lowering his voice.

"We need to talk to Orsino," I said. "Urgently. I honestly don't know what to do any more; but he's the closest I've got to an employer right now."

Emeric frowned.

"He is here, isn't he?" I prompted.

"Yes. He's here. He's just not in a good mood today."

"Well I'm not in a very good mood either," I pointed out. "And Meredith isn't in a good mood. In fact, I'd be a little concerned if he was in a good mood."

"All right, all right. You've made your point. Follow me." Emeric raised his voice for the benefit of the Templar at the desk, "I'm just taking my cousins through to the mess. Maybe give them the tour."

He made a show of stopping and pointing out some things before we hurried through strangely hushed corridors.

"Where is everyone?" Fenris voiced what I'd been wondering.

"Meredith's suspended educational and recreational activities and confined the mages to their quarters until this emergency is over," Emeric explained.

"And when will that be?" I asked.

"Your guess is as good as mine."

"Emeric," I said, "Do you know where Carver is?"

"He's in the city with the rest of the Templars. Do you want me to pass on a message?"

"No, it's best he doesn't know anything for now."

The corridors were quiet, but they weren't empty. Every so often we'd run into strangely blank-faced people, apparently standing guard. It took me a while to realise what they were.

"They're Tranquil," I said. "What are they doing?"

"Most of the Templars are in the city with Meredith," Emeric said. "There are only a handful of us here, so the Tranquil have been told to watch over the place instead."

"Creepy," Isabela said.

"Isn't Meredith worried about leaving the Gallows so unguarded?" I asked. "There are a lot more mages in here than there are out there."

Emeric gave me a troubled look, "That's what I've been wondering myself."

When we arrived at Orsino's office, only one Tranquil was guarding the door, a stunning young woman who regarded us without a trace of curiosity, and greeted us in a monotone.

"Hello Elsa," Emeric said. "May we see the First Enchanter?"

"I will need to report the names of your guests," she said.

We gave false names. It wasn't like she was capable of being suspicious of three badly-smelling tramps visiting Orsino.

Orsino was pacing up and down his office, his chin sunk to his chest in thought. He looked up when he heard us come in. His eyes were bloodshot, and there were dark circles underneath them. I'd almost say he looked worse than Anders' had, minus the bruising.

"It's you," he said. "You're still here. I'd have expected you to have caught the first train out by now."

I grinned, "Well, I haven't been paid yet. More seriously, I think you need to know what's been going on. Maybe you'll have some ideas as to what to do next."

"Yes, I suppose even if the news gets worse I should hear it." He dropped into the chair behind his desk with an attitude of utter exhaustion. "Is she still out there?" he asked quietly.

"The Tranquil?" I asked.

"Elsa," Emeric said. "She is. Meredith ordered her to stay there."

Orsino clenched and unclenched his fists. "I see. Sorry, Hawke, I don't – anyone else would have been – just tell me what you have to tell me."

The only thing I didn't tell him was where we were hiding Anders.

"We can't let things go on like this," Orsino said. "She's practically taken over the city." He got to his feet, "Fine, let her take the city. But I think she's spread herself a little thin. If she thinks those …things are going to keep us in check, she's wrong. Just because they wear the faces of our colleagues, our friends, our students. Our best and brightest who were just too full of life to be contained by this place." He stalked around from behind his desk.

"I think it will be a kindness, first of all, to set them free. They'll fight back, but at least we have the comfort of knowing they will feel nothing. We will suffer for them," he was talking through his teeth, his reddened eyes held a mad gleam that I didn't like.

"We need to stop and think about this before we do anything rash," I said.

"No! That's what _she_ always says when I try to make a difference around here. Your friend, that Anders – he wasn't wrong; he just picked the wrong target. It should have been here all along."

"Maybe that's true, but you can't just take it over-"

Emeric stepped forward, "Listen to the man, First Enchanter. There has to be another way."

"Do you think I haven't already tried everything? Every move I make she counters. And I _know_, I know why she left Elsa- no, that thing that _was_ Elsa – out there. She thinks she can get to me. The lyrium trick wasn't going to work twice, was it? Well, this isn't going to work either. She has no idea how much control I really have, how much power."

I saw the glint of metal in his hand.

"No!" I shouted, both to him and Fenris, who had drawn his gun and was squinting down the sites. If Orsino lost it, or died, we'd have no allies left.

Fenris pulled the trigger.

I snatched after the bullet with my magic, but I wasn't that fast. Orsino recoiled, grabbing his hand as the blade was torn from his grasp and went zinging across the room. I staggered as Isabela pushed me out of the way and leaped on the First Enchanter, tackling him to the ground.

"Don'cha hate it when you're trying to work and something keeps distracting you?" she said, shrugging off her coat and giving Orsino what was probably a front row seat to her cleavage. "You must get so frustrated locked away in here."

It seemed to be working. Orsino didn't look like he was putting in a great deal of effort trying to get away from her, and he didn't appear to be doing any magic either.

"Damn you people are fast," Emeric said, looking pale.

We jumped when Elsa knocked politely on the door. "I heard a gunshot," she said without inflection, "I need to come in."

"No you don't!" I raised my voice. I gestured to Fenris and we each took one end of Orsino's heavy wooden desk, and with some effort managed to drag it against the door. Elsa tried to open it, rattling the handle and pushing on it.

"I have to get this door open. I am telephoning Meredith to ask for further orders."

I could hear more footsteps coming down the corridor. "She's going to have help soon enough, and Meredith herself if she's near a telephone. We have to get out of here."

"There's no way out," Orsino said, now that Isabela had let him up for air. "We're right at the top of the Gallows."

"We could use Flemeth's flying machine right about now," I said gloomily.

Orsino raised his head. "If you would allow me to work some magic, I might have a solution."

"No blood magic," I said firmly.

"You have my word."

We tore back the drapes that shrouded the bleak view of the Gallows' courtyard below, and flung open Orsino's lead-lighted windows. Behind us Elsa and other Tranquil hammered mechanically on the door.

"I'm not sure I should be doing this," Emeric said. "Maker, that's a long way down. I think I'll stay here, if you don't mind."

"Do you want me to tie you up?" Isabela asked. "Hit you on the head?"

"No," Emeric said quietly. "It's all coming out now, isn't it, First Enchanter? I think I'm just going to sit here, and when they break in, I'm going to tell Meredith what I think. This isn't why I became a Templar. This isn't what I'm supposed to be doing."

We all briefly shook his hand, and Orsino murmured his thanks to the old Templar.

"Are we really going to fly?" Isabela asked.

"It's more like floating," Orsino said. "Um, everyone has to hang on tight."

Fenris wrapped an arm around my waist. "What?" he said when I looked at him in surprise. Isabela and I hung on to Orsino, who was frowning in concentration, and on three we leaped out the window. That's what happened. What I felt was sheer terror; I was wondering if I could somehow cushion our fall when we inevitably splattered on the cobblestones, but rather than a sharp plummet, we drifted down like dandelion seeds.

"Well this is nice," Isabela said brightly. "What are we going to do when we hit the ground?"

"We're going to run," I said. And we're going to shove anyone who gets in our way out of our way.

"I may need to borrow your coat," Orsino said.

* * *

><p>It took us all afternoon to hike back to Kirkwall. Every time we heard a motor on the road we'd dive off into the ditch and cover our heads, just in case it was Meredith starting a search. Mostly it was the bus, but once or twice official Templar cars roared past. They didn't seem to be looking for us, however, and I wasn't sure if I was relieved or worried.<p>

Dusty and footsore we caught a tram back to Hightown and staggered into Fenris's mansion, where Merrill, Varric and Aveline had been going mad with worry, and had spent the afternoon clustered around the wireless waiting for news of our arrest.

"She's saying the First Enchanter was behind it all," Varric said. "That he was trying to discredit her, mad with power, etcetera. She's even offered amnesty for any mages that come forward in the meantime."

Orsino just bowed his head, "I was so close to doing exactly what she said. If you hadn't stopped me, Fenris- I wouldn't have been able to handle it. I was so angry and despairing. I see that now. She knew – Elsa was one of my best students. She was so lively and hopeful, but always getting into trouble. There was a time when I thought Tranquillity was a kindness. After Elsa I knew better." He ran his hand over his silver hair. "Is Anders here? I would speak with him, if that's all right."

"Follow me," Aveline said.

"It's like you're collecting them," Merrill said to Fenris with obvious amusement.

"Collecting what?" he asked warily.

"Mages of course. First Trip, then Anders and now Orsino. You should hang a sign out in front of your door: Fenris's Home For Wayward Mages."

I laughed. Fenris didn't.


	59. Orsino Vanishes!

As the evening progressed the news on the wireless went from bad to worse. Without Orsino to make his case, Meredith's version of events was becoming the official one. Dumar came out on her side, offering his full support until the rogue mages were apprehended. Varric went back to Lowtown briefly and came back with the news that my house had been searched. Gamlen had been taken in for questioning but they'd let him out again, apparently without the Templars being very much the wiser. I could have kissed the old bastard for managing to keep his mouth shut.

Aveline and Varric, being the least likely of our group to be stopped and arrested at any point, went out to get us dinner. They returned with food and no good news; the hunt for Orsino had almost overtaken the hunt for Anders, and there were Templars patrolling the streets. My name was being mentioned with more and more frequency, although why they actually needed to speak to me was left vague.

"I hope Carver's all right," was all I said about it. I needed to think of something. By now Meredith would be watching both the docks and the railway station, and possibly the major roads out as well. Kirkwall was a secure city, bounded by cliffs and ocean. We'd missed the window of opportunity for an easy escape.

I didn't want to run. I couldn't just abandon all of Kirkwall and the mages – apostates and otherwise – who resided there to Meredith's tender mercies. They still hadn't found the rest of the yellowcake, and I shuddered to think what she might decide to do with it. Export it to other Circles maybe.

I went to take Anders and Orsino their dinner; Orsino seemed content to stay in the basement with the other mage, apparently as some sort of penance. At least, that's what I thought.

I walked carefully down the stairs into the gloom, going slowly with both hands balancing plates of food; if I tripped they'd go flying. I could hear conversation coming from Anders' room, which we still kept locked.

"So she set you up!" That was Anders. "It wasn't your fault that-"

"It was," Orsino said gently. "It was my mistake."

"What, you're saying she's right? Why don't you go and turn yourself in then?"

"I'm saying we all make mistakes. Mages and non-mages alike. No one got hurt. It's all right to ask for forgiveness sometimes."

There was silence for a while.

I heard Anders' shaky sigh, and I could just imagine him running his fingers through his hair as he did so.

"I can see why all the mages I helped escape seemed to have so much loyalty and affection for you. You're kinder to me than I deserve."

"No, I'm not. I just know what you're going through. I've seen many other mages go through exactly the same. Not every near-miss is observed by a Templar, you know. Mages need other mages, more than anything else. Do you think Hawke would have become who he is without his father and his sister?"

"What am _I_ supposed to do then?"

"Come here, come on. I don't bite. You can tell me all about it."

Silence, then a bit of shuffling.

"I...I want to tell you about someone. His name was Karl. You sort of remind me of him a little."

I crept back upstairs and left them to it. Eventually Aveline took their food down, and when she returned she said Orsino had asked if he could stay down there to sleep, and if Fenris had any extra blankets.

"Does he think this place is a hotel?" Fenris asked.

"You mean it's not?" Merrill grinned.

"Oh, let him," I said. "We're going to be short on beds anyway, and right now Anders needs a friend. Someone who's understood what he's gone through."

Aveline and Varric went back to their respective homes, but Merrill decided she didn't want to walk back to the Alienage alone, and Isabala wanted to stay just because it irritated Fenris. We opened up cupboards and dragged out somewhat moth-eaten blankets and pillows and we spent most of the evening waiting for our turn in the bathroom. When Anders came up for his turn he made a point of rather stiffly thanking Fenris for his hospitality.

Fenris scowled, "Yes, yes, just do something useful to make all this worthwhile, would you?"

"Like what? Heal the sick and comfort the poor?" Anders asked.

I grinned. That was more like it.

"It's good to have you back," I said.

"This bed is huge," Isabela's voice floated down the hall. "We could all fit on this, easy."

"Ooh, I want to see." Merrill went to have a look and Fenris followed, full of indignant refusals.

"Thanks," I said to Orsino, who was watching the proceedings with a faint, bemused smile.

"He's a good man. He's suffered a lot."

"Did he tell you about Justice?" I asked. "What did you think?"

"Trip, we're mages. Justice was as real as Anders needed him to be. I'm only sorry that he hid him so well; perhaps if someone could have drawn him out of his shell earlier it wouldn't have come to this." Orsino smiled sadly, "I hope I've done my bit."

I rubbed the back of my neck, "He wanted, well, me, but I just couldn't be there the way he wanted me to. I feel bad about that."

"Don't. Things may yet work out for the best." We looked up as Fenris came stalking back, his face like a thundercloud.

"What's wrong?" I asked.

"I hope you don't mind sleeping on the floor," he muttered.

I laughed. "Outnumbered, were you?"

"They're having a pillow fight."

"Really? Why didn't you say so earlier?" I grinned and rubbed my hands together. "I have to observe this phenomenon."

Orsino laughed, "Thank you, Fenris, for letting me experience a bit of normality."

"You think this is _normal_?"

* * *

><p>Fenris and I slept in the kitchen, wrapped up in a pile of blankets next to the cooling stove. Fenris's mansion seemed alive that night, creaking and shuddering in a cold wind that had sprung up somewhere out at sea and was pushing its way up the Kirkwall cliffs. We shuffled and muttered and murmured in response to the rattling windows and the groaning timbers. I heard Merrill giggle loudly at one point.<p>

I played with Fenris's fingers, and licked his ear and he scraped his teeth on my shoulder and we managed to get undressed and dressed again without unraveling the blankets and losing our warmth. When we slept I kept my nose pressed to the back of his neck.

At one point I heard Isabela shout, 'Out!' and Horse clumped downstairs and flopped on our feet.

Maybe there were Templars on the streets, but the cold wind would drive them into coffee shops and alcoves, keeping them away from our house, with its door that wouldn't lock and barely kept closed. Our house warmed by half a dozen dozing, laughing, shivering, breathing, living, bodies.

When the sun rose, it rose hot. The cold wind had swept away the usual morning fog, and then died, and the kitchen grew warm and sun-drenched. I stuck my head out of the blankets and sleepily wondered who'd declared it spring. I unwound the blankets enough for me to slip out of them, Fenris curling up over the space I'd left behind.

It was early. The shadows cast by the buildings on the other side of the road still looked dew-sodden and cold. I turned on the stove and started making coffee and heating up what was left of yesterday's bread rolls.

I brought some of both down to the basement. It was a lot colder down here, and I regretted not wearing any shoes.

Orsino and Anders had evidently decided to consolidate their blankets. I nudged the elf with my foot and he looked utterly bewildered by his circumstances for a few moments, but the coffee soon brought him around.

"Why does Meredith want to talk to me?" The strange hush that had fallen when the wind had died still lay over the house, and we sat in the kitchen talking quietly, doing our best not to disturb it.

Orsino shrugged, "She does not necessarily take me into her confidence, but my understanding is that you scare her. She can't work out who you are and what you want. And she's been digging. I imagine Carver's been questioned too."

"Does she think I'm a mage?"

"She thinks everyone is a mage. Well, no, everyone could be a mage until proven otherwise and, well, you're a Hawke. She wasn't Commander when your father was at the circle, but he was one of our most well-known escapees. So yes, I think she is convinced you are a mage. She doesn't understand what you want, or who you are, and it infuriates her more than I do. Me, she understands all too well."

"But she can't prove it. I'm just a citizen."

"I don't think she has proof, no." Silence fell for a few moments, "I can't stay here, Hawke. I have to go back at some point."

"I know. But she's going to have your head for this."

"Find another Circle," Fenris said sleepily. "Resume your campaign from there. There's no shame in a tactical retreat."

"That's not the worst idea I've ever heard," I admitted. "I'm out of bright ideas. Maybe we should just leave."

The household started to wake up, and Aveline arrived early with the morning papers and her belongings in two large bags.

"I can't stay at the barracks anymore," she explained. "I'm just a civilian, aren't I?"

"There's plenty of room in the bed upstairs," Isabela said, applying lipstick and peering at her reflection in a hand mirror.

"Trip, you might want to look at this," Aveline handed me the paper. On the front was a picture of Carver.

The others peered over my shoulder as I read.

Meredith wanted to talk. It wasn't so much a news report as a message, for me. Unless I came forward and proved myself not a mage, Carver was going to be tried for aiding and abetting apostates.

I threw the paper down on the table and we looked at each other.

"I have to go," I said.

"No. It's a trap, obviously," Isabela said.

"I can't leave Carver there. He hasn't done anything wrong."

"Technically he's been aiding and abetting you for years," Aveline pointed out.

I looked at Fenris.

"Just because it's a trap," he said carefully, "doesn't mean we have to walk into it unprepared."

"We should contact her first," Isabela said, "and see what her terms are. I wouldn't go anywhere private."

"That will suit her," Orsino said. "If she's got a plan, she'll want everyone to see it."

"You can't go alone," Merrill declared. "If it all goes wrong we have to rescue you!"

"Definitely!" Isabela said. "Everyone needs an escape route."

"Well," I got to my feet, "let's find a public phone and let her know we're willing to negotiate."

* * *

><p>Noon seemed somewhat appropriate. Varric had no trouble getting the papers interested, and Meredith seemed more than happy to have our meeting happen in the town square.<p>

"Be very, very, very careful," Anders said, wringing his hands. We'd let him out, and given him a hug – well, Fenris declined the latter – and filled him in on what was going on. If we had to run for it, we couldn't leave him behind, and Aveline seemed to accept Orsino's assurances that he wasn't about to do anything else he'd regret.

"I know, I know," I said.

"I have stolen us the best car," Isabela said. "And Merrill will park hers nearby too."

Everyone who had them patted their guns.

"I'll come with you," Orsino said, "When you talk to Meredith. I can only hope they'll still listen to me."

"And if we have to leave?" Anders asked.

Orsino smiled faintly, "I'll create a distraction. Have faith, Anders."

"I'll be as close as I can," Fenris muttered, straightening up my shabby coat. "I won't let them do anything to you. Over my dead body."

"Let's hope it doesn't come to that."

He glanced around. Almost everyone was politely holding unrelated conversations, letting us have our moment. Fenris frowned, and looked up at me with an oddly determined expression.

"You are coming back, you understand me?" he said.

Before I could frame a suitable response he flung his arms around my neck and pressed his mouth to mine. I staggered back half a step under his sudden weight and kissed him back, automatically embracing him.

When he pulled back he was glaring at me. "For luck," he said, even though his cheeks were burning.

I thought I was going to need it.


	60. Meredith's Ultimatum

We sent Varric on ahead to casually watch the town square. He needn't have worried about being conspicuous; there were Templars, police and reporters everywhere, as well as the usual crowd of hangers-on who had nothing else to do on a Wednesday.

"I don't sense any lyrium," Merrill said, as we pulled up in her car.

"She won't use that trick again," Orsino said. "Not so soon, anyway. She must have something else planned."

"I wish I had something planned," I said. "Are you ready, First Enchanter?" Once he stepped out, the reporters were going to be all over us.

He nodded.

Orsino and I stepped out of the motor while the others dispersed through the crowd. I had questions shouted at me and flashbulbs popped, but I left the talking to Orsino, as was my place as a mere employee.

Meredith was waiting for us. Carver was among the Templars standing behind her, chewing nervously on his thumb and staring at me, then Orsino, then Meredith and back to me again. At least they hadn't arrested him.

I grinned and waved at my brother. More photographs were taken.

"First Enchanter," Meredith spoke, and the crowd went silent. "We were wondering where you were. You have some questions to answer. And if I don't like the response, I will be applying to have this Circle annulled." The crowd murmured. "I have done everything I can to protect _everyone_, mages and innocent citizens alike, and yet this Circle continues to defy me, continues to be an embarrassment among Circles. And for so long," she was addressing the crowd now, rather than us, "I thought it was me. I thought I wasn't working hard enough, that perhaps I was too soft. But it wasn't me, was it, Orsino? It was you. It was you all along. You and your apostates, right under our noses all this time."

"Are you quite finished?" Orsino asked. "Do you have any proof of this vast conspiracy, Meredith? Any proof that you haven't already planted, like you planted that yellowcake. You want to talk to this man?" He gestured towards me, "Talk to him. I hired him to find your yellowcake and he did. I asked him to smuggle me out of the Gallows and he did that as well, at considerable risk to himself. Because you are out of control; you've been out of control for a long time, but now you can't shut me up. Or are you going to tell all these people that it's not in their best interest to hear what I have to say? You accuse innocent citizens of being apostates just because they get in the way of _your_ plans. You think yourself above the law, and you treat City Hall like your holiday home. The citizens of Kirkwall deserve better than you."

Meredith smiled. It wasn't a nice smile.

"That man is a mage, and I can prove it."

"Meredith, if you torture people, you can get them to say whatever you like."

I was looking at Carver. He shook his head, helplessly.

"Oh no, Orsino. This will be poof, not hearsay. Correct?" Meredith turned and looked at a slight elvish woman who until now had been hidden among the Templars. "Do you recognise her, Hawke?"

"Hello Varania," I said. "She hired me to find her brother. I see her plans to go to Tantervale didn't work out."

"I swear I will wipe that smile off your face, Hawke. Give him a gun." The Templars looked at her in surprise as my stomach clenched. "Go on, do it!" Meredith grinned triumphantly. "And then stand well back."

There was a scuffle somewhere in the crowd, and I heard Fenris call out, "Here, take mine!"

His automatic arced towards me, the metal gleaming in the sun as it seemed to hang at the zenith of its arc. Almost instinctively I stretched out my hand to intercept it. And I caught it, absorbing the downward force of its fall, the butt pressing against my palm as my fingers wrapped around it. Orsino took a step back.

I held the gun in my right hand, pointing it at the ground, calmly.

"What now?" I asked. "Do I pull a rabbit out of my hat? Do _you_?"

Meredith turned on Varania, "You said-"

"He _did_, I swear!"

Meridth and I glared at each other as she willed my self-control to crack.

"Enough of this farce!" A Templar stepped forward. Cullen. "Meredith, where is your proof? What was the point of all this, other than to bring the Order in to disrepute throughout the Freemarches? There are many questions about this that need answering, and some of them will be asked of you, Commander. I will be tabling a report and in the meantime, I must ask for you to stand aside. For the good of the Templars." He was speaking politely, but I noticed a few of the other Templars, Carver included, were stepping up behind him, all looking at Meredith.

"He is a mage, I swear it. Expose him to lyrium, interrogate his brother! Maker's Breath Cullen, don't let him get away with this."

Cullen shook his head, "It's clear you need a break, Meredith. We can talk about this all later."

Gently but firmly, the Templars clustered around their leader, and took her away.

Cullen stepped forward to talk to us, waving his hand irritably at the reporters as the police tried to disperse the crowd.

"I trust you'll be coming back with me, First Enchanter?" Cullen asked.

Orsino smiled, "I rather enjoyed my time away, but there is much to be done. Thank you, Cullen."

Cullen looked at me, and then at the gun in my hand. "You know, Hawke, I find myself wondering, if I examined that gun, whether or not I'd find any bullets in it."

I raised my eyebrows, "You think it might be empty? I can't imagine why anyone would carry around an empty gun."

"Mm. You're probably right." He looked over his shoulder and then back at me, "There is going to be an investigation. Questions are going to be asked. The Seekers might even get involved. It might be easier if you weren't around to answer them."

"Are you warning me off?"

"I'm doing you a favour. Frankly, I'll be sorry to see you go; I've been watching this situation get worse for weeks, and I couldn't think of a way out." He stuck his hand out and I shook it. "Well, I've got a mountain of paperwork to do. I suppose I'm Acting Commander until we get it all sorted out. I'll see you later, Hawke, or not, as the case may be."

* * *

><p>Kirkwall Station was bustling in the bright morning sunshine. Every so often a whistle would shriek, and a train would arrive or leave, and the tide of people standing around on the platforms drinking coffee and reading the papers and counting their luggage and arguing with the ticket collectors would ebb and flow.<p>

I'd finally decided what to do with the money Ma had left me, and I'd sold my comic book collection. I'd spent some of it on second-class tickets to Tantervale. Several bags were piled up at my feet as Fenris and I stood around smoking and watching the clock.

"If they're late, we leave without them," I declared. I frowned, "What in the world?"

Varric had Bianca's case resting on his back, a suitcase in one hand and with the other he was pushing a little trolley with a huge stack of papers on it almost as tall as he was and with his typewriter strapped to the top. Isabela was trotting along beside him, wrapped in a fur coat I didn't recognise; she'd commandeered a porter and was directing him to put her numerous cases into the luggage van.

"What have you got there?" I asked Varric, when they halted next to us.

"Screenplays, Hero," Varric said. "I'm rewriting all my novels. Movies are going to be the next big thing; people go to Tantervale with a dream and they become millionaires. In two years time Sam Falcon is going to be a household name, I guarantee it."

"And you're going to give me a part, aren't you?" Isabela asked.

"I'm gonna make you a star, Rivaini. The biggest and brightest there ever was."

One of the conductors tapped me on the shoulder. "Excuse me, Sir, but animals need to be caged."

"So?"

"Your dog?"

Horse barked.

"He's not my dog," I said.

"Well whose dog is he then?"

"He's got a ticket," Varric pointed out. Indeed, Horse had a second-class ticket tied to the back of his collar. "Maybe he belongs to himself."

Horse barked eagerly and wagged his tail.

"Yes but-"

"It doesn't seem fair if he's already paid."

"He's a dog! He can't pay!"

Horse barked some more.

"Well he has, hasn't he? He's got a ticket, after all. They don't just hand them out for free."

Horse barked.

Isabela laughed.

"He can't ride on the train." The conductor tried again.

"Why are you telling us?" Fenris asked. "You should talk to him."

Horse barked eagerly.

"I…I'm going to find someone. This isn't right."

We were still laughing when Merrill arrived, chock full of excitement about riding in a train. Isabela was telling her unlikely stories about Tantervale when Aveline and Anders arrived, the latter looking rather gloomy.

"I can't find Purrsival," he explained. "I looked everywhere. He must want to stay in Kirkwall, oh I hope he'll be all right. Poor thing."

"You're coming with us?" Fenris asked Aveline. "I thought they reinstated you?"

"They did," Aveline said. "But I think I'll be needed more in Tantervale." She eyed Isabela warily, "What with the number of miscreants arriving in the near future. Not to mention, it has the highest crime rate of the Freemarches. To be honest, I'm looking forward to it."

"See," I nudged Fenris, "there'll be plenty of work for us."

A train pulled up at the platform and I looked at the clock."I think that's us," I said.

We gathered up our bags and parasols and coats and hurried to find a compartment, Horse in our midst. I stopped as Gamlen jogged up, out of breath.

"I'm sorry lad. I nearly missed you. Traffic and so on." He looked at me. "It'll be good to have my room back, but I'm going to miss you, Trip." We shook hands and he squeezed my arm.

"Save your coppers," I said, "come and visit us sometime."

"You and that elf?"

"Well, I hope so," I smiled.

Gamlen shook his head, "I don't know what's wrong with this family. You look after each other. I'll write."

I didn't believe him.

I waved and hurried to join the others in our compartment. We flung open the windows and leaned out to wait for the train to leave.

"Trip?"

I turned.

"Carver?" He was standing in the doorway, smiling awkwardly. I stood up and embraced him. "You've come to see us off?" I asked.

"Nah," he said, and slung a bag up into the storage partition. "I'm coming with you. Cullen didn't want me to, but I told him he could sign the transfer or a receipt of my resignation." He grinned, "He's wiring the paperwork on ahead."

"Welcome back!" Isabela ruffled Carver's hair and he turned red and we made room for him on the seats.

"Everyone's back together," Merrill declared happily.

"Except Purrsival," Anders said sadly. "Purrsival!"

Horse barked and wagged his stumpy tail as the cat himself strolled into the carriage.

I raised an eyebrow, "Well that's just strange."

Another cat followed.

"And you've got a friend," Anders declared, delighted, as both cats leaped onto his lap. The second cat was a rather handsome silver tabby with green eyes.

Carver looked at me.

I shrugged. It wasn't my business.

The whistle blew and we crammed ourselves at the windows and shouted and whistled and waved our hats and made such a commotion that the conductor asked us if someone needed a doctor. Gamlen waved, and little kids shrieked back at us, as other passengers turned bemused at the noise.

Goodbye, Kirkwall. Not quite the love of my life.

Anders played with his cats, and the others watched the Kirkwall cliffs until they disappeared out of sight. I sat down next to Fenris.

"When I hang out my shingle again," I told him, "I want you to be my partner in the business. And don't say you don't need the money. You'll have to pay rent in Tantervale."

Fenris smiled, "Are you sure?"

"Well I'm not letting you stay for free," I said, "and you're not living with anyone else, that's for sure."

He frowned, "Trip."

I grinned at him.

"Don't worry; it's a three day journey. You've got lots of time to think about it and then say yes."

Fenris laughed softly, and surreptitiously took my hand.

End

* * *

><p>AN: And that's all he wrote, folks. Thank you very, very much for reading and reviewing. I hope you enjoyed the read, I certainly enjoyed the writing – well, most of it. This is undoubtedly the longest single work I've ever written, and I appreciate your patience with me. I certainly never intended it to take this long. Hawke can now finally ride (a train) off into the sunset with his friends and cause trouble in another city. And I can finally rest easy now the story has been told to my satisfaction. This was, ultimately, fix-it fanfiction, and it's fixed now.


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